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1 

2 

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1 

2 

3 

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-^- 


P2 

.8426 

copy 


SUSPENSE 


I  - 


SUSPENSE 


2?^  Henry  Seton  Merriman 


Author  o/The  Sowers;  In  Kedar's 
Tents,  Roden's  Corner,  etc.  itit^ 


-.W-  y^c.li^ 


1 1.  ■•'*.',  t'-- 


•Wew  J^orft,   DODD,    MEAD 
AND    COMPANY,    1899 


I  ■  A<i,e-«  •*  "f  •  T 


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R«gl*t«r    of    Copif  I  l|h}|. 


><^SCH-.«...^X^ 


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u«,u':*' 


Revised  and  Authoiiied  Edition 

Copyright,  r8Q() 
Bt   Dodp,   Mead  ano  Compant 


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Preface 

"Suspense"  is  an  early  and  immature  attempt 
which  has  at  some  trouble  and  expense  been 
withdrawn  from  circulation  in  England.  See- 
ing that  under  existing  copyright  law  the 
book  is  unprotected  in  the  United  States  from 
the  unauthorized  enterprise  of  certain  pub- 
Ushers,  the  author  finds  himself  practically 
forced  to  issue  an  edition  of  this  and  other 
early  works.  He  docs  this  in  full  consciousness 
of  a  hundred  defects  which  the  most  careful 
revision  cannot  eliminate.  The  book  has  been 
corrected  by  the  author,  who  now  submits  it  to 
the  generosity  of  the  critic  and  the  good  sense 
of  the  reader  with  the  assurance  that  had  he 
been  in  a  position  to  choose  he  would  not  have 
sought  this  indulgence. 

Henry  Seton  Merriman. 


aHMlWWtt— w*^— B»»gTq<W^i|MWIiil 


i  i 


Contents 


Chapter 
I. 

On  Board  the  "Hermione" 

II. 

The  Exception     .... 

III. 

A  ShaijOw 

IV. 

A  Sportsman's  Df.aih     .     . 

V. 

Bad  News    

VI. 

Sisters 

VII. 

Alice  Returns      .... 

VIII. 

To  the  Front      .... 

IX. 

Under  Fire 

X. 

Trist  Acts 

XI. 

The  Sport  ok  Fati:  .     .     . 

XII. 

Breaking  Ir 

XIII. 

A  Lesson 

XIV. 

Hicks'  Secret 

XV. 

Wyl's  Hau 

XVI. 

Diplomacy 

Pack 
I 

13 

2.S 

43 

6s 
78 

97 
107 
121 
134 
147 
157 
170 
1S2 
189 


HMftfT  U1i»M\»'*^m 


vi  Contents 

^  Pack 

Chaptkr 

XVII.  Good-bye! 2°4 

XVIII.  At  Work 222 

XIX.  Plevna •    •  237 

XX.  The  Puzzle  of  Life.     .         •    •    •  25° 

XXI.  The  End  of  it  Ail 264 


Page 
.     204 

.     222 

.  237 
.  250 
.     264 


SUSPENSE 


CHAPTER   I 

ON    BOARD   THE    "  HERMIONE  " 

"  TJ  RENDA,  what  are    you    thinking 

r>    about?" 

It  was  hardly  a  question.  The  into- 
nation of  Mrs.  Wylie's  voice  was  by  no 
means  interrogative,  and  she  returned 
placidly  to  the  perusal  of  her  novel  with- 
out awaiting  a  reply.  The  ladies  had  been 
reading  silently  for  at  least  an  hour,  until 
the  younger  of  the  two  allowed  her  book 
to  lie  unheeded  on  her  knee,  while  the 
pages  fluttered  in  the  breeze. 

The  remark  called  forth  by  this  action 
was  accepted  literally  and  as  a  question. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Theo  Trist,"  replied 


-  Suspense 

the  girl  gravely.    She  did  not  meet  her 

on.panio°„'s  gaze,  but    looked    w,s  uUy 

across  the  fjord  towards  the  bleak  d.smal 

cliffs.  ,  ^„_ 

Mrs.   Wylie  closed  her  novel  on  one 
white  plump  finger  and  drummed    idly 
Tpon    the    back    of    it    with    the    other 
hand.     In    movement   and   repose    alike 
this    lady    was    essentially    comfortable 
Her    presence    suggested     contentment 
and  prosperity  amidst  the  most  unpro- 
pitious    environments.      The    /r^«««^. 
her  temporary  home,  a  broad    slow-sa,  - 
ing    schooner-yacht,    was,    below    decks, 
conducted  on  the  principles  of  a  luxu 
rious,  roomy  house.    She  had  a  wonder- 
ful  way  with  her,  this  plump  and  sm.hng 
lady,  of  diffusing  into  the    very  atmos- 
phc;e  a  sense  of  readiness  to  meet  all 
emergencies.    The  elements,  even,  seemed 
to  bow    to    her.     Overhead    the  wmds 
„,i.ht  roar  and  moan  aloud  through  stay 
anSrigging-all  around  the  waves  m.ght 

leap  and  throw   themselves  against  the 
staunch    low   bulwarks    of  the  yacht- 


!??« 


On  Board  the  "  Hermione  " 


leet  her 
vistfuUy 
:  dismal 

on   one 
ed    idly 
e    other 
le    alike 
fortable. 
ientment 
t  unpro- 
{ermt'one, 
slow-sail- 
V    decks, 

a  luxu- 
,  wondcr- 
d  smiling 
y  atmos- 

meet  all 
;n,  seemed 
he  winds 
•ough  stay 
ives  might 
gainst  the 
J   yacht  — • 


but  in  the  cabin  was  warm  comfort;  and 
with  it,  dainty  womanly  ways.  Mrs. 
Wylie  proved  most  effectually  that  at  sea, 
in  fair  weather  and  in  foul,  a  woman  can 
be  a  woman  still. 

She  now  re-opened  her  book,  but 
instead  of  reading,  sat  gazing  thought- 
fully at  the  young  girl.  Presently  she 
laughed  musically  and  turned  resolutely 
to  the  open   page. 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured  —  confessing,  as 
it  were,  that  her  thoughts  had  on  former 
occasions  been  drawn  in  the  same 
direction.  "Yes.  But,  Brenda — I  — 
should  not  advise  you  —  to  —  think  —  of 
Theo  Trist." 

There  are  in  the  lives  of  most  of  us 
passing  moments  which  leave  a  distinct 
impression  upon  the  mind.  Of  all  the 
million  words  we  hear  there  are  some 
trivial  remarks  which  hold  fast  to  the 
inner  sinews  of  the  great  machine  we  call 
memory  —  a  machine  which  rests  not  by 
night  or  day,  in  health  or  sickness,  in 
prosperity  or  woe.     Often  it  is  a  jest,  or 


.  Suspense 

some    weighty    saying    spoken     in    jest. 
There  is  no  apparent  reason  why  some 
words  should  be  so  distinctly  remembered 
while  others  pass  away  from  recollection; 
and  yet  small    observations,    interestmg 
only  in  the  passing  moment,  catch_  as  it 
were  in  the  mental  wheel,  and,  adhering  to 
the  spokes,  spin  round  with  them,  just  as 
a  mere  muddy  piece  of  paper  may  cling  to 
the  wheel  of  an  emperor's  carnage  and 
flutter  through  the  cheering  crowd,  calling 
for  universal  attention. 

Brenda    Gilholme     listened     to     Mrs. 
Wylie's  laughing  caution  in  a  vague  wa)', 
and  there  seemed  to  come  into  her  mind 
an  indefinite  recollection.     Certain  it  was 
that  she  had  never  heard  the  words  before, 
but  yet  they  were  forebodingly  familiar. 
The    semi-bantering   ring  of    the    lady  s 
voice,  the  soft  hum  of  the  breeze  through 
the  rigging  overhead,   the  ripple  of  the 
awning  stretched  tautly,  and  the  regular 
plash    of  tiny  wavelets  beneath  and   al 
around,   formed    an    entire    harmony    of 
sound  which  was  instantaneously  graved 


in    jest, 
ly  some 
imbered 
[lection ; 
leresting 
ch  as  it 
lering  to 
\,  just  as 
cling  to 
age  and 
i,  calling 

to     Mrs. 
gue  way, 
her  mind 
,in  it  was 
ds  before, 
familiar, 
he   lady's 
;  through 
le  of  the 
\e  regular 
h  and   all 
rmony    of 
sly 


graved 


On  Board  the  **  Hermione  "         5 

on  her  memory,   never  to  leave   it   from 
that  day  forth. 

Mrs.  Wylie,  having  married  happily 
herself,  was  of  the  firm  opinion  that 
marriages  are  made  in  heaven.  She  was 
too  kind-l^carted  and  too  merciful  to  the 
human  race  to  think  of  interfering  in  the 
work.  Perhaps  she  felt  that  if  heaven 
turned  out  such  poor  work,  hers  could  not 
well  be  satisfactory.  Be  that,  however,  as 
it  may,  Mrs.  Wylie  was  no  match-maker. 
She  held  strange  views — alas!  too  rarely 
fostered — that  if  a  man  be  worthy  of  a 
woman  and  love  her  truly,  he  should  be 
able  to  win  her  for  himself;  and  that  if  he 
cannot  do  this  unaided  he  is  better  without 
her. 

Of  course  she  knew  that  Theo  Trist 
and  Brenda  were  great  friends.  She  was 
well  aware  that  in  some  future  time  the 
friendship  mt£-/i/  turn  to  something  else. 

Trist  was  twenty-eight  and  Brenda  was 
nineteen,  while  both  were  in  manner  and 
appearance  older  than  their  years  could 
warrant.     Also  was  there  another  matter 


'Il 


I 

V 


5  Suspense 

of  some  weight.  Brenda  had  a  sister,  a 
lovely  unscrupulous  coquette,  two  years 
older  than  herself. 

Alice    Gilholme   had   been    pleased    to 
change     her    name     and     state     in     St. 
George's,  Hanover  Square,  earlier  in  the 
year,  while  the  Hermione  was  yet  in  dry 
dock.     Three  weeks   after   the   wedding, 
Theo   Trist   returned   from   abroad   with 
his    bland    broad    forehead    tanned    and 
brown.      He  expressed   no   surprise.      In 
fact,  he  vouchsafed  no  opinion  whatever. 
Had  he  met  Captain  Huston,  the  happy 
bridegroom?     Oh   yes!     They  had    met 
in   South    Africa.      That   was   all!      He 
never   related   details   of   that   part   of   a 
difficult  campaign  which  they  had  passed 
together.     The   laconic   praise   contained 
in    the   two   words  "good   soldier,"  such 
as    had    been  applied    to    many   of    his 
acquaintances,   was   not  forthcoming. 

From  a  lady's  point  of  view,  Alfred 
Woodruff  Charles  Huston  was  the  beau- 
ideal  of  a  soldier.  Tall,  straight  and 
square   shouldered,   he   carried   his  small 


Ml 


sis*er,  a 
vo   years 

eased    to 
in     St. 
jr  in  the 
;t  in  dry 
wedding, 
Dad   with 
ned    and 
rise.      In 
whatever, 
he  happy 
had    met 
all !      He 
Dart   of   a 
id  passed 
contained 
ier,"  such 
ly   of    his 
)ming. 
w,    Alfred 

the  deau- 
aight   and 

his  small 


On  Board  the  "  Hermione  "        7 

head  erect.  His  clear  brown  eyes  were 
quick  enough,  his  brown  clean-cut  face 
almost  perfect  in  its  outline.  Indefati- 
Ljable  at  Sandown,  Hurlingham,  Good- 
wood, Ascot  he  had  a  pleasant  way  of 
appearing  to  know  something  about 
everyone  and  everything.  But  Theo 
Trist  had  not  met  him  at  any  of  these 
places  or  in  fashionable  London  drawing- 
rooms  later  in  the  day.  They  had  come 
together  in  South  Africa  in  the  course 
of  a  campaign,  when  both  had  laid  aside 
the  accessories  of  pleasure  and  were  hard 
at  work,  each  in  his  chosen  groove.  It 
was  somewhat  strange  that  he  should 
never  offer  to  discuss  Captain  Huston 
as  a  military  man. 

"  That  fellow  Huston,"  a  general  officer 
had  once  said  in  an  unguarded  moment 
—  "that  fellow  Huston,  Trist,  is  the 
biggest  duffer  in  the  British  Army  I " 

And  Trist's  answer,  given  after  careful 
consideration,     was     laconically    severe  : 

"Yes,    I   am   afraid   so." 

But  Alice   Gilholme   omitted  to  con- 


8 


Suspense 


suit  the  general  officer;  and  after  all,  if 
Captain  Huston  was  no  soldier,  he  was 
at  least  a  gentleman,  with  elegant  high- 
bred ways,  and  an  empty  high-bred  head, 
containing  just  enough  brain  to  find  out 
the  enjoyment  of  existence.  The  happy 
couple  were  now  in  India,  where  we  will 
leave  them. 

Whether  the  marriage  of  Alice  Gilholme 
had  been  a  severe  blow  to  Theo  Trist 
or  no,  it  were  hard  to  say.  Mrs.  Wylie 
even  could  give  no  opinion  on  the  subject, 
and  Brenda  never  mentioned  it.  There 
was  no  perceptible  change  in  the  man's 
strange  incongruous  face  when  the  news 
was  broken  to  him  without  premonition 
in  a  crowded  room.  His  life  was  essen- 
tially ruled  by  chance ;  good  or  bad 
tidings  were  therefore  no  new  things  to 
him. 

The  Hermione  rose  and  fell  slightl)', 
almost  imperceptibly,  to  the  waves,  and 
backwards  and  forwards  across  the  spot- 
less deck  Brenda  Gilholme  walked  pen- 
sively.    She    was    motherless,    and    her 


\ 


after  all,  if 
licr,  ho  was 
igant  higli- 
i-bred  head, 
to  find  out 
The  happy 
lere  we  will 

ce  Gilholme 
Theo  Trist 
Mrs.  Wylie 
the  subject, 
.  it.  There 
1  the  man's 
;n  the  news 
premonition 
e  wa.s  essen- 
od  or  bad 
w  things  to 

fell  slightly, 
waves,  and 
»ss  the  spot- 
ivalked  pen- 
s,    and    her 


On  Board  the  "  Hermione  "         o 

father  was  entirely  absorbed  in  political 
strife,  being  an  English  Home  Ruler. 
This  thoughtful  girl  had  grown  up  in  the 
shade  of  her  sister's  beauty,  and  had 
perhaps  suffered  from  the  contiguity. 
She  was  pleased  to  consider  herself  a 
plain  uninteresting  girl,  which  was  a 
mistake. 

Perhaps  she  was  a  discontented  person. 
Her  expression  certainly  warranted  such  a 
belief.  Undoubtedly  she  thought  too  little 
of  herself.  In  personal  charms  she  com- 
pared unfavourably  with  her  sister  Alice, 
and  in  that  small  fact  lay  the  secret  of  it 
all.  Glory  of  any  description  unfortu- 
nately casts  a  reflection  which  is  sure  to 
be  unpleasant  either  to  the  reflector  or  to 
the  friends  of  that  person. 

Had  Brenda  Gilholme  been  launched 
upon  the  troubled  waters  of  society  alone, 
she  would  probably  have  made  a  better 
place  for  herself  there  than  her  sister 
Alice  ever  reached  ;  but  unfortunately  she 
started  in  the  world  as  Alice  Gilholme's 
sister.     In  a  thousand  ways  clumsy   and 


lO 


Suspense 


well-meaning  men  allowed  her  lo  define 
her  own  situation. 

"  Brenda,"  Admiral  Wylie  used  to  say, 
with  a  loving  twinkle  of  his  intensely  blue 
eyes,  "  Brenda  is  a  brick."  She  was  true 
and  loyal ;  a  devoted  sister,  and  a  staunch 
friend.  Had  she  loved  her  sister  less,  she 
would  have  carried  a  lighter  heart  through 
many  a  gay  ball-room.  She  would  have 
suffered  less  from  —  let  us  call  it  the  mis- 
taken kindness  of  her  sister's  friends. 
She  would  have  thought  more  of  herself 
and  less  of  Alice. 

Brenda  Gilholme  knew  too  much.  Her 
estimate  of  human  existence  at  the  age 
of  nineteen  was  truer  and  deeper  than 
that  of  her  grandmother  at  the  age  of 
ninety. 

Presently  she  stopped  walking,  and 
stood  beside  the  low  rail,  grasping  an  awn- 
ing-stanchion with  one  hand.  The  wist- 
ful, discontented  look  left  her  eyes,  which 
were  clear  and  blue,  with  long  dark  lashes, 
and  in  its  place  came  an  interested,  keen 
expression. 


ir  lo  define 

used  to  say, 
tensely  blue 
>he  was  true 
d  a  staunch 
iter  less,  she 
eart  through 
would  have 
11  it  the  mis- 
;r's  friends, 
e  of  herself 

much.  Her 
at  the  age 

deeper  than 
the  age  of 

alking,    and 

)ing  an  awn- 

The  wist- 

eyes,  which 

dark  lashes, 

jrested,  keen 


On  Board  the  "  Hermione  "       1 1 

"  I  think,"  she  said  aloud,  "  I  see  him 
coming.  There  is  a  small  sail  far  away 
down  the  fjord." 

Mrs.  Wylic  looked  up  vaguely. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  absently ;  "  I  dare 
say  you  arc  right ! " 


12 


Suspense 


CHAPTER    II 


THE    EXCEPTION 


|.1 


THE  Hcrmione  lay  at  the  head  of  that 
small  branch  of  the  sea  called  the 
Heimdalfjord.  This  long  and  narrow  inlet 
is  an  insignificant  branch  of  a  greater 
fjord  where  steamers  ply  their  irregular 
traflfic ;  where  British  tourists  gaze  with 
weary  eyes  at  the  towering  rocks  and 
bleak  cliffs ;  and  where,  during  the  long 
silent  twilight  winter,  the  winds  howl  and 
roar  round  the  bare  crags.  On  cither  side 
of  the  Heimdalfjord  the  gray  hopeless 
cliffs  rose  a  sheer  two  thousand  feet,  while 
the  blue  deep  water  lapped  their  base 
with  scarce  a  ripple.  The  fjord  lay  be- 
tween the  mighty  barriers  with  a  solemn 
sense  of  profundity  in  the  stillness  of  its 
bosom.  One  could  almost  picture  to  one's 
self  the  continuation  of  the  steep  incline 
into  a  great  dark  valley  beneath  the  super- 


The  Ex'ccption 


n 


ad  of  that 
called  the 
rrow  inlet 
a   greater 

irregular 
jazc  with 
ocks    and 

the  long 
howl  and 
either  side 

hopeless 
"eet,  while 
heir  base 
d  lay  be- 

a  solemn 
less  of  its 
re  to  one's 
!p  incline 
:he  super- 


ncial  ripjile,  where  mighty  marine  growths 
reared  their  brown  branches  up  towards 
the  dim  light,  never  swaying  to  the  ocean 
swell  —  where  strange  northern  fishes  and 
slow  crawling  things  lived  on  unknown, 
unclassified. 

Amid  such  surroundings,  upon  the 
face  of  so  large  a  nature,  the  Hcrmione 
looked  incongruous.  Her  clean  lontr 
spars,  her  white  awning,  the  yellow 
gleam  of  her  copper  beneath  the  clear 
v/ater,  all  suggested  another  world  where 
comfort  and  small  refinement  live.  Here 
all  is  of  a  rougher,  larger  stamp.  Here 
man  and  his  petty  tastes  are  as  nothing. 
The  bleak  and  dismal  mountains  were 
not  created  for  his  habitation,  for  nothino: 
grows  there,  and  human  ingenuity,  human 
enterprise,  can  do  naught  with  such  stony 
chaos. 

On  the  entire  Heimdalfjord  there  are 
but  two  boats  —  mere  pinewood  craft 
heavily  tarred.  One  is  owned  by  Hans 
Olsen,  who  lives  far  away  at  the  point 
where    the    Sognfjord    begins,    and    the 


■-rny 


1 4  Suspense 

other  belongs  to  Christian  Nielsen,  who 
farms  the  two  acres  of  poor  soil  at  the 
head  of  the  Heimdalfjord.  No  steamer 
has  ever  churned  the  still  waters;  few 
yachts  have  ventured  up  to  the  head  of 
the  inlet,  where  there  is  no  attraction  to 
the  sightseer.  But  Nielsen  looked  every 
year  for  the  white  sails  of  the  Hermione, 
and  with  native  conscientiousness  re- 
frained from  netting  the  river  that  ran 
past  his  brown  log-hut. 

The  river  brought  him  in  more  money 
than  his  farm,  and  even  at  this  out-of- 
the-world  corner  of  the  Heimdalfjord 
money  and  the  lust  of  it  are  the  chief 
movers  of  men's  hearts.  Five  hundred 
crowns  a  year  was  a  sum  worth  thinking 
about,  worth  depriving  one's  self  of  a 
little  salmon  for,  which,  after  all,  was 
plentiful  enough  when  once  the  Hermione 
had  cast  anchor. 

Four  miles  down  the  fjord  there  was 
another  break  in  the  great  wall  of  moun- 
tains, and  a  second  river  danced  gaily 
down  its  narrow  barren  valley  to  the  sea. 


-  '—rff\     «u 


The  Exception 


15 


Nielsen,  who 

r  soil  at  the 

No   steamer 

waters;   few 

the  head  of 

attraction  to 

looked  every 

ne  Hermione^ 

:iousness     re- 

ver  that   ran 

1  more  money 
t  this  out-of- 
Heimdalfjord 
are  the  chief 
Five  hundred 
orth  thinking 
e's  self  of  a 
ifter  all,  was 
the  Hermione 

)rd  there  was 

wall  of  moun- 

danced   gaily 

ey  to  the  sea. 


From  this  river-mouth  a  small  boat  was 
now  making  its  way  under  sail  up  the 
f'ord.  A  tiny  speck  of  white  was  all 
the  girl  could  distinguish  from  the  deck 
of  the  yacht,  and  she  stood  silently 
watching  its  approach  until  the  form  of 
the  sailor  sitting  low  in  the  bow  of  the 
small  brown  craft  was  discernible. 

The  sun  had  set  some  time  before,  so 
that  the  wDter  was  in  shadow,  deep  and 
blue ;  but  up  on  the  hills  and  away  to 
the  south  upon  the  distant  snow-clad 
mountains  a  warm  pink  glow  lay  hazily. 
Deep  purple  vales  of  shade  broke  the 
line  of  cliffs  abutting  the  water  here  and 
there.  Where  the  hills  closed  together, 
five  miles  away  (so  that  the  fjord  aj> 
peared  to  be  a  lake),  there  was  a  ricli 
background  of  blue  transparency  through 
which  the  broken  crags  loomed  vaguely. 
It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock,  an:!  this 
clear  twilight  was  all  the  darkness  that 
would  come  to  the  Heimdal  that  July 
night. 

The  breeze  held  its  own  bravely  against 


I     ' 


I    \  I 


16 


Suspense 


the  soporific  influence  of  Arctic  sunset, 
and  with  full  taut  sail  the  dinghy  splashed 
and  gurgled  through  the  waters.  The 
steersman  was  invisible  by  reason  of  the 
reefless  sail,  but  his  handiwork  was  appa- 
rent and  very  good. 

"He's  driving  her  along!"  muttered 
the  steward,  as  he  stood  for  a  moment 
at  the  galley-door. 

•'  The  driving  is  like  unto  the  driving 
of  Jehu,"  answered  old  Captain  Barro.v, 
who  was  smoking  his  evening  pipe  upon 
his  own  small  piece  of  deck  between  the 
galley  and  the  after-companion. 

Captain  Barrow  rarely  missed  an  oppor- 
tunity of  throwing  at  the  head  of  the 
steward,  who  (like  most  good  cooks) 
was  a  godless  person,  a  Biblical  quotation 
more  or  less  correct. 

Before  the  silence  had  again  been 
broken  the  dinghy  came  rushing  on. 
Down  went  the  tiller,  and  with  shivering 
canvas  the  little  boat  swung  round  along- 
side. 

Beside     the     after-rail     Brcnda     stood 


The  Exception 


17 


\rctic  sunset, 
ighy  splashed 
waters.  The 
reason  of  the 
>rk  was  appa- 

r\"  muttered 
ar  a  moment 

0  the  drivhig 
iptain  Barro.v, 
ng  pipe  upon 
k  between  the 
ion. 

ssed  an  oppor- 
head  of  the 
sood    cooks) 

lical  quotation 

1  again    been 
rushing    on. 

with  shivering 
g  round  along- 

Brenda     stood 


motionless;  her  eyes  were  resting  on  the 
dreary,  lifeless  scene  which  was  nothing 
but  a  still  blending  of  hazy  blue  now 
that  the  small  white  sail  no  longer  gave 
life  to  it.  She  did  not  even  turn  when 
the  sound  of  wet  splashy  footsteps  upon 
the  deck  came  to  her  ears.  The  new- 
comer had  kicked  off  his  brogues  amid- 
ships, and  was  coming  aft  in  wet  waders 
and  soaking  outer  socks,  out  of  respect 
for  the  HermioJie  s  deck. 

There  was  a  vague  suggestion  of  re- 
spectful familiarity  in  his  movements. 
One  could  tell  instinctively  that  he  had 
known  these  ladies  for  many  years.  Nor 
did  he  apologize  for  the  informality  of  his 
attire. 

This  man  was  clad  du  rcste  disgrace- 
fully. His  old  tweed  coat  was  baggy  and 
most  lamentably  worn.  One  sleeve  was 
very  wet,  while  the  other  was  muddy. 
The  gray  waders  were  discoloured,  and 
he  had  apparently  been  kneeling  in  green 
slime. 

He    came    beneath    the    awning,  and 


,^.  _.*.  .-**i.»jL*^.-T^)L'ivr*^i«erT: 


i8 


Suspense 


'     I 


\i 


raised  from  his  close-cropped  head  a  most 
lamentable  hat  of  gray  cloth,  with  a  vague 
brim  and  no  independent  shape.  All 
round  it  were  salmon-flies  and  a  coil  of 
gleaming  gut. 

As  he  stood  there  beneath  the  awning 
in  the  gray  twilight  with  his  head  bared, 
the  strange  incongruity  of  his  person  was 
very    noticeable.     A    sturdy,    lightly-built 
body    spoke    of   great    activity.     It    was 
the  frame  of  a  soldier.     But  the  face  was 
of  a  different  type.     In  itself  it   was  in- 
consistent, becar.se  the  upper  part  of  it 
had  no  sympathy  with  the  lower.    A  fore- 
head which  receded  slightly  in  a  kindly 
curve  to  strong  curled  hair  could  only  be 
described  as  bland,  while  beneath  straight 
thick  brows  there  smiled  a  pair  of  gray 
eyes  as  meek  as  human  eyes  were   ever 
made.     It  was  in  these  same  meek  eyes 
that  all  the  world  misread  this  man.     In 
brow  and  eyes  he  was  a  soft-hearted  phi- 
lanthropist, such  as  are  easily  misled  and 
gulled  with  exaggerated  tales  of  woe.     A 
man  to  take  up  some  impossible  scheme 


The  Exception 


19 


2ad  a  most 
ith  a  vague 
;hape.  All 
d  a  coil  of 

the  awning 
bead  bared, 
person  was 
lightly-built 
y.  It  was 
he  face  was 

it   was  in- 
-  part  of  it 
er.    A  fore- 
in  a  kindly 
uld  only  be 
ath  straight 
pair  of  gray 
5  were    ever 
I  meek  eyes 
is  man.     In 
hearted  phi- 
j  misled  and 

of  woe.     A 
iible  scheme 


to  alleviate  the  sorrows  of  a  class  or  kind, 
to  busy  himself  unprofitably  in  a  crusade 
against  class  privileges  and  uphold  the 
so-called  rights  of  a  victimized  working 
population.  But  from  the  eyes  down- 
wards this  was  all  lost,  and  there  were 
other  sign?  instead.  The  nose  was  straight 
and  soirewhat  small,  while  the  lips, 
though  jlean-shaven,  were  entirely  devoid 
of  any  suggestion  of  coarseness,  such  as 
one  may  read  upon  the  mouths  of  most 
men  past  the  age  of  twenty-five,  unless  a 
moustache  charitably  hide  such  failing. 
The  mouth  was  almost  too  severe  in  its 
clean  curve ;  in  repose  it  was  Napoleonic, 
in  gaiety  it  lost  all  hardness.  The  chin, 
again,  was  square  and  slightly  prominent. 
To  judge  from  nose  and  lips  and  chin 
this  new-comer  had  been  intended  for  a 
soldier,  but  the  meek  eyes  disturbed  this 
theory. 

That  his  life  had  been  chiefly  spent  in 
the  open  air  was  discernible  from  his  bear- 
ing and  appearance.  Judging  from  out- 
ward things,  one   could  not  help  feeling 


ii  ill 


1    II 


20 


Suspense 


that   Theodore  Trist   was  an  exceptional 
man  in  some  way  or   other,  in  sport  or 
work,    in   deed   or   thought.     His    broad 
pensive  brow  would  seem  to  indicate  a 
literary  or  poetic  tendency,  while  the  meek 
eyes  spoke  of  a  great  love  for  Nature  and 
her  unfathomable  ways.     The  man  might 
easily  have  been  a  naturalist  or  a  vague 
day-dreamer,  dabbling  in  the  writer's  art. 
Certain  it  was  that   he  could  only  he  a 
specialist   of  some  description.     No   uni- 
versality  could  exist  behind  those  gentle 
eyes.     Certain  also,  it  would  seem,  that  he 
trod   in    the   paths  of  peace  where'er   he 
went.     His  gentle  movements,   his  calm 
soft  speech,  were  almost  womanlike.     But 
then  these  indications  ran  full  tilt  against 
the  soldierly  frame  and  the  still  hard  lips. 
The  most  discerning  physiognomist  would 
not  have  dared  to  say  that  those  gentle 
eyes   had   looked   upon   more    bloodshed 
than  any   warrior   of   the   day;   that   the 
brown  ears  had  been  torn  by  more  human 
shrieks  of   utter  agony   than   any    army- 
surgeon  has  ever  listened  to.     This  man 


The  Exception 


21 


exceptional 
in  sport  or 
His    broad 

indicate  a 
le  the  meek 
Nature  and 
man  might 
or  a  vague 
>vriter's  art. 

only  he  a 
.  No  uni- 
lose  gentle 
em,  that  he 
i^here'er  he 
,  his  calm 
ilike.  But 
tilt  against 
1  hard  lips, 
'mist  would 
ose  gentle 

bloodshed 
;  that  the 
ore  human 
any    army- 

This  man 


of  peace  was  the  finest,  ablest,  truest 
chronicler  of  a  battle  that  ever  scribbled 
notes  amidst  the  battle  smoke.  Like 
many,  he  found  his  metier  by  accident. 
He  was  leaving  Oxford  when  the  first 
rumour  of  war  between  France  and  Ger- 
many startled  the  world. 

When  at  last  the  quick  defiance  was 
hurled  from  one  nation  to  another,  Theo- 
dore Trist  disappeared.  The  sound  of 
battle  drew  him  away  from  peaceful  Eng- 
land to  that  fair  country  by  the  Rhine 
where  blood  has  been  sucked  into  the 
fertile  earth  to  grow  again  into  deadly 
hatred.  The  din  and  roar  and  fury  of 
battle  was  this  mild-eyed  man's  element. 
The  sulphureous  smoke  of  cannon  was  the 
breath  of  life  to  him.  And  yet  through  it 
all  there  went  the  strange  incongruity  of 
his  being.  In  the  wild  joy  of  fighting 
(which  carries  men  out  from  themselves 
and   transforms   them   into   new  stranrc 

O 

beings),  Trist  never  lost  his  gentle  demean- 
our. The  plucky  Frenchmen,  with  whom 
he  spent  that  terrible  winter,  laughed  at 


22 


Suspense 


him,  but  one  and  all  ended  their  merriment 
with  upraised  finger  and  grave,  assuring 
eyes. 

"  Mais,"  they  said  compensatingly,  "d'un 
courage  .  .  ."  and  the  sentence  finished 
up  with  a  shrug  and  outspread  hands, 
indicating  that  the  courage  of  "ce  drole 
Trist"  was  practically  without  bounds. 

And  yet  he  did  not  actually  fight  with 
sword  and  rifle.     The  pen  was  his  arm 
and  weapon.     In  two  languages  he  wrote 
through  all  that  campaign  the  record  of 
a  losing  fight.     While   endeavouring   to 
give  a  somewhat  unchivalrous  enemy  his 
due,  he  made  no  denial  of  partisanship. 
The    ease    and    fluency   with    which   he 
expressed    himself    in    French    excluded 
all  hope  of  that,  and  Trist  frankly  arrayed 
himself  on  the  side  of  the  losing  nation. 
Finally    he    occupied    with    perfect     se- 
renity the  anomalous  position  of  a  non- 
combatant  who   ran   a  soldier's   risk  —  a 
neutral     totally     unprotected,     and     un- 
recognised   as    such  —  an    English   war- 
correspondent  who,  of   his  own  free  will, 


The  Exception 


n 


merriment 
e,  assuring 

ingly,  "d'un 
ce  finished 
ead   hands, 
E  "ce  drole 
t  bounds. 
y  fight  with 
as  his  arm 
es  he  wrote 
e  record  of 
Lvouring   to 
5  enemy  his 
tartisanship. 
which   he 
h    excluded 
ikly  arrayed 
sing  nation, 
perfect     se- 
tt of  a  non- 
r's   risk  —  a 
,     and     un- 
nghsh   war- 
vn  free  will, 


refused   to  lay  himself   under    the   obli- 
gations  entailed  by  protection. 

When   at   length    Paris  had   fallen,  an 
emaciated,  pale-faced  Englishman  turned 
his  back   upon   the   demoralized    capital 
and  sought  his  native  land.     His  groove 
in  life  had  been  found.     Theodore    Frist 
was    a  born    chronicler    of    battle-fields. 
His  great  knowledge  of  his  subject,  his 
instinctive  divination   of    men's   motives, 
saved  him  from  the   many   pitfalls   that 
usually    lie    concealed    in    the    path    of 
all   who    follow    an    army-corps  without 
occupying  a  post   therein.     He  watched 
war  as  a  lover  of    war,   not  as   a  self- 
constituted    representative    of    a    hyper- 
critical  nation. 

So  Trist  returned  to  England  and 
found  himself  famous.  Upon  every 
bookstall  in  the  kingdom  he  found  a 
small  red  volume  of  his  letters  collected 
from  the  columns  of  the  journal  he  had 
represented  during  the  great  unfinished 

war. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days  he  called 


ilSJ: 


24 


Suspense 


upon  his  various  friends — Mrs.  Wylic 
amoni;  the  first,  Alice  and  Brenda 
Gilholme,  at  the  house  of  their  aunt, 
Mrs.  Gilhohnc,  shortly  afterwards.  It 
was  about  this  time  that  Brenda  con- 
ceived the  idea  that  Theo  Trist  loved 
her  sister.  lie  was  only  one  among 
many,  but  he  was  different  from  the  rest, 
and  the  young  girl,  for  the  first  time, 
blamed  her  sister  seriously.  She  kept 
these  things  in  her  heart,  however.  If 
Trist  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  fascina- 
tions of  the  light-hearted  coquette,  he 
certainly  concealed  his  feelings  most 
jealously. 

Brenda  fully  recognised  that  the  fact 
of  his  being  less  light-hearted,  less 
cheerful  than  of  old,  might  easily  be 
accounted  for  by  the  horrors  through 
which  he  had  passed  during  the  late 
months;  but  there  was  something  else. 
There  was  another  change  which  had 
come   over   him   since  his  return. 

While  she  was  still  watchimr  and 
wondering,  Theo  Trist  suddenly  vanished, 


■**•, 


The  Exception 


a5 


1.  Wylie 
13  re  n  (la 
iir  aunt, 
irds.  It 
iida  con- 
st lovud 
'.  among 
the  rest, 
rst  time, 
>he  kept 
ever.  If 
:  fascina- 
ictte,  he 
IS     most 

the  fact 
ed,  less 
easily  be 
through 
the  late 
ing  else, 
lich  had 
n. 

ing    and 
vanished, 


and  soon  afterwards  there  broke  out  a 
small  war  in  the  Far  East.  Like  a  vulture 
he  had  scented  blood,  and  was  on  the 
spot  by  the  time  that  the  news  of  hostili- 
ties had  reached  England.  He  never 
wrote  private  letters,  but  his  work  in  the 
new  field  of  battle  was  closely  watched 
by  the  small  circle  of  friends  at  home. 
As  usual,  his  letters  attracted  attention, 
and  people  talked  vaguely  of  this  wonder- 
ful war-correspondent  —  vaguely  because 
he  was  personally  unknown. 

When  he  returned  Alice  Gilholme 
was  married,  and  Brenda  had  to  tell 
him  of  it.  No  surprise,  no  signs  of  dis- 
comfiture were  visible  in  the  man's  in- 
congruous face,  where  strength  and 
weakness  were  strangely  mixed.  He 
inquired  keenly  and  practically  about 
settlements,  expressed  a  hope  that  Alice 
would  be  happy,  and  changed  the  subject. 

Trist  approached  Mrs.  Wylie  with  slow 
steps.  In  his  two  hands  he  carried  a  fine 
stout  salmon  with  a  sharp  snout.  Its 
dark    lips    curled    upwards  with  an    evil 


t 

il 

,1-! 


iS-' 


w 


I 


ii 


26 


Suspense 


twist,   and  even   in    death    its  eyes  were 

full  of  fight. 

The  lady  dropped  her  book  upon  her 
lap,  and  looked  up  with  a  smile.  In 
her  eyes  there  was  a  kindly  and  yet 
scrutinizing  look  which  was  almost 
motherly  in  its  discernment.  This  young 
man  was  evidently  more  to  her  than  the 
rest  of  his  kind.  She  knew  his  impassive 
face  so  well  that  she  could  read  where 
others  saw  an  unwritten  page. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  with  some  interest  (for 
she  was  a  sportsman's  wife),   "that  is  a 

good  fish ! " 

"Yes,"  he  acquiesced  in  a  soft  and 
rather  monotonous  voice,  harmonizing 
with  his  eyes.  "  He  is  a^  fine  fellow. 
We  had  a  desperate  fight !  " 

As  if  to  prove  the  severity  of  the 
struggle,  he  looked  down  at  his  knees, 
which  were  muddy,  and  then  held  out  his 
right  hand,  which  was  streaked  with  blood. 

"Ah,  how  nasty!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Wylie  pleasantly.     "  Is  it  yours  or  his  ?  '| 

"  Mine,  I  think.     Yes,  it  must  be  mine." 


T 


The  Exception 


«7 


yes 


were 


upon  her 
■nile.     In 

and    yet 

almost 

lis  young 

than  the 
impassive 
id   where 

tercst  (for 
that  is  a 

soft  and 
rmonizing 
le    fellow. 

y  of  the 
his  knees, 
;ld  out  his 
ath  blood, 
ned  Mrs. 
>  or  his?" 
:  be  mine." 


Brcnda  had  approached  slowly,  and  was 
standing  close  to  him.  She  stooi)cd  a 
little  to  examine  the  fish,  whicl\  he  held 
towards  her  with  his  left  hand,  and  even 
deigned  to  poke  it  critically  on  the 
shoulder  with  her  finger. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  she  inquired  casually, 
without  looking  up. 

A  slow  gleam  of  humour  lighted  up 
Trist's  soft  and  melancholy  eyes  as  he 
looked  down  at  her. 

•'  He  cannot  answer  for  himself,"  he  said 
suggestively.  "  But  I  think  I  can  volun- 
teer the  information  that  he  is  not  hurt 
now.  He  died  the  death  of  a  plucky  fish, 
and  did  not  flinch." 

"  I  meant  70M." 

"  I  ?  Oh  no,  I  am  not  hurt,  thank  you. 
Only  very  dirty." 


1 


S'l; 


i 


<»iiiii)ii«MiWH«m>i 


L^'l- 


28 


Suspense 


CHAPTER   III 


A    SHADOW 

THE  two  fishermen  went  off  in  oppo- 
site directions  again  the  next  day, 
the  Admiral  taking  the  gig  and  sailing 
down  the  fjord  to  the  distant  river,  while 
Trist  went  ashore  in  Nielsen's  boat  to  fish 
the  stream  that  ran  past  the  little  mountain 
homestead. 

It  was  a  dull  foreboding  day;  for  the 
clouds  had  fallen  over  the  summits  and  all 
was  gray.  The  gorges  were  dark,  and  over 
everything  there  seemed  to  have  come 
a  sudden  gloomy  melancholy.  Without 
actually  raining,  the  gray  mist  overhead 
dissolved  softly  into  a  falling  dampness 
which  was  more  subtly  penetrating  than 
driving  rain  itself.  The  sea  was  of  a  dull 
gray,  and  looked  muddy.  The  Arctic 
fjords  can  make  a  wondrous  show  when 
the  sun  shines,  and  fleecy  white   clouds 


off  in  oppo- 

he  next  day, 

and  sailing 

river,  while 

boat  to  fish 

tie  mountain 

lay;  for  the 
imits  and  all 
ark,  and  over 

have  come 
y.  Without 
ist  overhead 
g  dampness 
trating  than 
vas  of  a  dull 
The    Arctic 

show  when 
vhite    clouds 


A  Shadov^r 


29 


nestle  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  grim 
mountains,  but  when  a  gray  pall  hangs 
motionless  one  thousand  feet  above  the 
sea,  there  is  no  more  dismal  prospect 
on  earth.  It  seems  as  if  the  rain  would 
softly  fall  for  ever  and  a  day  —  as  if 
nothing  could  ever  brush  aside  the  heavy 
vaporous  veil,  and  let  the  gay  blue  sky 
peep  through  again. 

But  it  was  a  grand  fishing-day,  despite 
a  chill  breeze  too  weak  to  move  the  clouds, 
and  the  fishermen  went  off  in  high  spirits. 
The  ladies  stood  on  deck  and  waved 
departing  wishes  for  good  luck.  Before 
the  breeze  Admiral  Wylie  scudded  away, 
while  Trist's  progress  in  the  heavier  boat 
was  slower,  owing  to  the  northern  deliber- 
ation of  Nielsen's  movements.  They  saw 
him  land,  and  immediately  he  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  skipping,  dancing  bevy  of 
little  white-haired  children  —  merry  little 
boys  who  begged  him  in  their  monotonous 
Norse  to  throw  a  stone  far,  far  across  the 
sea.  Willingly  he  obliged  them,  while 
eager  hands  were  outstretched  to  hold  his 


1 


I'.' 


'i 
n, 


^o  Suspense 

rod  and  gaff.  Then  the  little  maidens 
had  to  be  attended  to,  notably  one  quaint 
little  figure  in  a  dress  made  upon  the 
same  Imes  as  her  mother's,  reaching  to  her 
heels,  with  true  golden  hair,  plaited  and 
pressed  close  against  her  tiny  head  in 
gleaming  coils,  who  looked  up  into  his 
face  with  a  wondrous  pair  of  blue  eyes, 
which  seemed  to  speak  some  deep  un- 
earthly  language  of  their  own. 

This  little  one  went  up  the  path 
towards  the  river  in  triumph,  standing 
upon  the  lid  of  his  creel  with  her  little 
fingers  closely  clutching  the  collar  of  his 
coat,  while  the  boys  and  older  girls  ran 
by  his  side  chattering  gaily. 

"  And  that,"  said  Mrs.  Wylie  in  her 
semi-sarcastic  way  as  she  turned  to  go 
below  with  the  view  of  consulting  the 
steward  about  dinner,  "  is  the  man  whose 
element  is  war." 

She  waited  a  moment,  but  Brenda 
made  no  reply  beyond  a  short,  mirthless 

laugh. 

During    that    day    the     cloudr,    never 


maidens 
ne  quaint 
upon  the 
ing  to  her 
aited  and 

head   in 

)  into  his 

blue  eyes, 

deep   un- 

the    path 

standing 

her  little 

[lar  of  his 

girls  ran 

lie  in  her 
ned  to  go 
ulting  the 
nan  whose 

ut  Brenda 
:,  mirthless 

iud.5    never 


A  Shadow 


31 


lifted.  It  was  twilight  from  morning 
till  night.  At  times  it  drizzled  in  a  silent 
feathery  way,  and  occasionally  it  rained 
harder.  The  temperature  grew  hot  and 
cold,  unaccountably,  at  intervals,  and  the 
roar  of  the  river  was  singularly  noticeable. 

At  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  Nielsen's 
boat  dropped  alongside,  and  Trist  clam- 
bered on  board  the  Hermione.  The 
ladies,  having  heard  the  sound  of  oars, 
came   on   deck   to   meet   him. 

"  Ah,"  said  Brenda ;  "  you  are  the  first 

home  again." 

"  Yes.  I  have  three,  so  I  am  content," 
was  his  reply.  "  Is  there  no  sign  of  the 
Admiral  ? " 

"Not  yet." 

As  they  spoke  they  moved  aft  and 
stood  beneath  the  awning,  looking  down 
the  deserted  fjord.  There  was  no  sail, 
no  suggestion  of  life  to  break  the 
monotony  of  its  waters.  Presently  Trist 
took  a  pair  of  binoculars  from  a  small 
covered  box  screwed  to  the  after-rail,  and 
gazed  steadily  at  a  certain  point  on   the 


TP, 


I     I 


32 


Suspense 


southern  shore  where  there  was  a  gap  '.n 
the  b!eak  wall  of  mountain. 

"  The  boat,"  he  said,  "  seems  to  be  lying 
there  still;  I  can  just  see  something 
yellow  near  the  large  rock  overhanging 
the   river." 

Mrs.  Wylie  looked  at  her  watch.  In 
half  an  hour  dinner  would  be  ready,  and 
the  boat  was  five  miles  away.  Even 
with  a  stiff  breeze  the  Admiral,  whose 
punctuality  was  proverbial,  could  not 
hope  to  be  in  time.  She  turned,  and, 
looking  forward,  perceived  the  steward 
standing  at  the  open  galley  door,  tele- 
scope in  hand,  wearing  upon  his  keen 
North-country  face  a  look  of  holy  resig- 
nation. 

"  That  old  gentleman,"  said  Mrs.  Wylie 
in  an  undertone,  as  she  looked  towards 
the  distant  boat,  "  is  going  to  get  himself 
into  trouble.     The  steward  is  annoyed." 

Presently  Trist  went  below  to  change 
his  clothes,  and  when  he  returned,  twenty 
minutes  later,  the  ladies  were  still  on 
deck,  standing  near  the  after-rail,  looking 


a  gap  \n 

>  be  lying 
omething 
;rhanging 

atch.  In 
eady,  and 
r.  Even 
al,  whose 
Duld  not 
ncd,  and, 
;  Steward 
oor,  tele- 
his  keen 
oly  resig- 

[rs.  Wylie 
1  towards 
et  himself 
noyed." 
to  change 
2d,  twenty 
;  still  on 
il,  looking 


A  Shadow 


33 


down  the  fjord  towards  the  river.  It 
was  nothing  alarming  for  a  salmon-fisher- 
man to  be  an  hour  late  for  dinner,  and 
there  was  no  display  of  anxiety  on  the 
part  of  Mrs.  Wylie.  She  was  not  a 
worrying  woman,  and  she  was,  moreover, 
'a  sailor's  wife,  endowed  with  a  brave, 
cheery  heart,  and  well  accustomed  to 
wait  for  wind,  weather,  or  mishap.  She 
appeared  to  be  more  afraid  of  the  stew- 
ard's displeasure  than  of  anything  else, 
laughing  at  it  with  mock  foreboding,  after 
the  manner  of  ladies  who  feel  that  they 
are  beloved  by  their  inferiors. 

About  half-past  seven  a  fresh  breeze 
sprang  up,  blowing  across  the  fjord  fit- 
fully, and  consequently  favourable  to 
sailing  either  way.  Brenda  had  been 
watching  Mrs.  Wylie  and  Theo  furtively, 
for  she  was  of  a  somewhat  anxious 
temperament,  and  could  not  understand 
the  levity  with  which  they  were  pleased 
to  treat  Admiral  Wylie's  prolonged  ab- 
sence. 

She   now  noticed  a  subtle  change   in 


34 


Suspense 


Trist's  manner.  His  meek  eyes  acquiivd 
a  strange  quickness  of  movement,  and 
for  the  first  time  she  saw  him  glance 
sideways,  or,  to  be  more  explicit,  she 
perceived  that  he  turned  his  eyes  in  a 
certain  direction  without  turning  also  his 
head.  This  direction  was  invariably 
down  the  fjord  towards  the  river.  There 
was  no  actual  change  in  his  manner; 
but  there  seemed  to  be  a  new  influence 
in  his  presence.  It  was  one  of  command. 
The  girl  suddenly  and  unaccountably  felt 
that  this  soft-spoken  man  was  no  longer 
.;  .acre  guest  on  board  the  Hermione.  In 
the  absence  of  Admiral  Wylie  the  actual 
command  of  the  ship  fell  upon  his 
shoulders,  and  in  his  gentle,  passive  way 
he  had  assumed  the  responsibility,  almost 
unconsciously,  without  ostentation. 

Brenda  was  in  no  manner  surprised 
when  he  presently  turned  to  Mrs.  Wylie 
and  said : 

"  It  is  no  use  waiting  any  longer.  I 
think  you  and  Brenda  had  better  go 
down  to  dinner,  while  I  take  the  long- 


acquired 
2nt.  and 
I  glance 
icit,  she 
^es  in  a 
also  his 
1  variably 
There 
manner ; 
influence 
Dmmand. 
tably  felt 
o  longer 
ione.  In 
he  actual 
pon  his 
sive  way 
y,  almost 
n. 

surprised 
rs.  Wylie 


I 


3nger. 


otter    go 
the  long- 


A  Shadow 


35 


boat  and  sail  down  to  see  what  is  delaying; 

them." 

The  hostess  made  no  attempt  to  combat 
his  decision,  but  amended  it  hospitably. 

"  You  must  have  some  dinner  first," 
she  said  decisively.  There  was  no  inter- 
change of  anxious  doubts,  no  alleviating 
sufo-estions  of  obvious  worthlessness,  such 
as  timid  people  proffer  readily  to  per- 
sons  suffering  from  suspense  ;  and  Brenda 
felt  that  there  was  a  great  courage  be- 
hind  the   smiling   woman's  face    at  her 

side. 

Trist  went  forward  to  where  Captain 
Barrow  was  standing,  smoking  his  even- 
ing pipe  just  abaft  the  mainmast. 

"Will  you  get  out  the  long-boat, 
please,"  the  ladies  heard  him  say,  "with 
mast,  and  sail,  and  one  man  ?" 

Presently  he  joined  them  in  the  saloon, 
where  they  were  pretending  to  dine,  and 
hurriedly  drank  some  soup.  No  one 
spoke,  and  the  sound  of  the  sailors'  move- 
ments as  they  lowered  the  long-boat  was 
the    only     break     in    an    uncomfortable 


i 


■ajgL'«;.jbBjiBa  ijiy.— ?.: 


36 


Suspense 


silence.  The  steward  moved  noiselessly 
and  lithcly,  as  behoved  his  calling. 

"  Your  oilskins  are  in  your  state-room, 
sir,"  he  whispered  presently  to  Trist,  who 
soon  afterwards  passed  through  the  nar- 
row doorway  into  his  little  apartment. 

When  he  came  out  he  was  fully  clad 
against  the  fine  cold  rain  which  was  fall- 
ing now.  Even  in  heavy  sea-boots  he 
managed  to  walk  smoothly. 

The  lamp  had  been  lighted  in  the 
saloon,  and  he  stood  for  a  moment  within 
its  rays,  looking  at  the  two  ladies.  It 
was  an  incongruous  and  unconsciously 
dramatic  picture  thus  formed  in  the 
refined  little  saloon,  the  two  gracious 
women  smiling  wistfully  at  the  straight, 
slim  man  in  gleaming  waterproofs.  The 
very  contrast  between  their  delicate  even- 
ing-dresses and  his  seaman-like  attire  was 
a  shock.  The  white  table-cloth,  adorned 
with  polished  silver  and  odorous  flowers, 
seemed  a  mockery,  because  there  were 
two  empty  chairs  beside  it. 

He  leant   over   tlie  back  of  his   chair. 


liselessiy 

ite-room, 
rist,  who 
the  nar- 
ent. 

illy  clad 
was  fall- 
loots   he 

in  the 
t  within 
dies.  It 
isciously 

in  the 
gracious 
straight, 
Fs.  The 
ite  even- 
ttire  was 
adorned 

flowers, 
;re   were 

is   chair, 


A  Shadow 


37 


and,  reaching  his  wine-glass,  which  stood 
half  full,  he  emptied  it. 

"  Do  not  be  anxious,"  he  said ;  "  I 
e>:pcct  we  shall  be  back  before  you  have 
finished  dinner." 

And  he  passed  out  of  the  saloon, 
swinging  his  sou'-wcster  by  its  strings. 

"We  will  keep  some  dinner  warm  for 
you  both,"  called  out  Mrs.  Wylie  cheer- 
fully, and  from  a  distance  he  answered : 

"  Thank  you  !  " 

While  continuing  their  homeopathic 
meal  they  heard  the  sound  of  men's 
voices,  the  creak  of  a  block,  and  imme- 
diately afterwards  the  rush  of  the  long- 
boat through  the  water  under  heavy 
sail. 

It  was  very  cold  that  evening,  and, 
owing  to  the  heavy  clouds,  almost  dark. 
Nevertheless  the  ladies  went  on  deck 
immediately  after  the  farce  of  dinner  had 
been  carried  to  an  end.  At  first  they 
talked  in  a  scrappy,  strained  way,  and 
then  lapsed  into  silence.  Wrapped  closely 
in  their  cloaks,  they  walked  side-by-side 


38 


Suspense 


fore  and  aft.  Owing  to  the  fine  drlz^le 
which  blew  across  the  fjord,  it  was  now 
impossible  to  distinguish  any  object  morn 
than  a  mile  away  from  the  yacht,  and  the 
two  women  were  enveloped  in  a  silent 
gray  veil  of  suspense. 

Until  ten  o'clock  they  continued  their 
vi.ril  _  alone  on  the  deck  except  for  the 
watchful  steward  standing  within  the 
galley-door.  Then  Brenda  espied  a  sail 
looming  through  the  gray  mist. 

"There  is  one  of  the  boats,'  she  said 
gently,  but  there  was  a  faint  thrill  of 
dread  in  her  voice. 

Mrs.  Wylie  made  no  answer,  but 
walked  to  the  after-rail,  out  from  be- 
neath  the  awning,  into  the  rain.  Brenda 
followed,  and  there  they  stood  waiting. 

"  It  is  the  gig,"  said  the  elder  woman 
half  to  herself,  otherwise  the  horrible 
moments  passed  mutely  by. 

There  was  but  one  man  in  the  boat. 
Trist  had  undoubtedly  sent  for  help. 
Contrary  to  etiquette,  the  sailor  did  not 
make   for   the   steps  hanging   amidships. 


A  Shadow 


39 


c  drizzle 

was  now 

jcct  more 

,  and  the 

a   silent 

ucd  their 
(t  for  the 
ithin  the 
led  a  sail 

'  she  said 
thrill   of 

wer,  but 
from  bc- 
.  Brenda 
/aiting. 
icr  woman 
e    horrible 

I  the  boat. 

for    help. 

lor  did  not 

amidships, 


but  caniL'  straight  beneath  the  counter  ot 
the  Hcrmione,  lowering  his  sail  deftly,  and 
standing  up  to  touch  his  dripping  sou'- 
wester as  the  boat  fell  alongside. 

The  sailor  was  young  nnd  impulsive, 
lie  did  not  think  much  of  yachtsman 
etiquette  just  then,  but  stood  up  in  his 
boat,  holding  on  to  the  rail  of  the  vessel 
with  both  hands. 

"  Please,  marm,"  he  said  hurriedly  and 
unevenly,  "  I  waited  at  the  mouth  of  the 
river  as  the  Admiral  told  me  to  do  until 
seven  o'clock,  and  he  never  came.  Then 
I  landed,  and  clambered  up  a  bit  to  look 
for  him.  When  a'  was  a  bit  up  I  saw 
the  long-boat  comin'  and  Mr.  Trist  steer- 
ing her,  so  I  went  down  again.  Mr. 
Trist 's  gone  up  the  river,  marm,  and  me 
and  Barker  waited  for  two  hours  and 
heard  nothin.'  Then  Barker  says  I  'd 
better  come  on  board  an'  tell  yer,  marm." 

"You  did  quite  right,  Cobbold,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Wylie,  in  a  monotonous  voice. 
"  You  had  better  come  on  board  and  get 
something  to  eat ;  you  look  tired." 


40 


S  uspcii.se 


lUit  the  man  did  not  move,     lie  shook 

his  ht\id. 

"No,  marm,"  ho  said  bashfully,  m 
not  wantin'  anything  t'  cat.  And  1  'm  not 
tired  .  .  .  only  I'm  a  bit  .  .  .  scared! 
I  should  like  to  go  back,  marm,  at  once 
to  the  river." 

Mrs.    Wylie    thought    for    a    moment 

deeply. 

"  I  will  go  back  with  you,"  she  said  at 
length."  Then  she  went  forward  to 
where  Captain  Barrow  stood  with  the 
rest  of  the  crew,  now  thoroughly  aroused 
to  anxiety,  grouped  behind  him.^ 

"Captain  Barrow,"  she  said,  in  ^ne 
slightly  raised,  so  that  all  might  ..ear 
her,  "the  Admiral  has  not  come  back 
yet'  I  am  afraid  that  he  has  either  hurt 
himself  or  is  lost  in  the  mist.  I  will  go 
back  with  Cobbold  in  the  gig.  But 
...  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  keep  the 

men  up." 

In  the  meantime,  Brenda  had  not  been 
idle.  She  ran  down  below  and  found 
the   steward   already   in   the   saloon  pro- 


I 


A  Shadow 


41 


c  shook 

y,  m 

1  'm  not 

,  scared! 

,  at  once 

moment 

c  said  at 
ward  to 
with  the 
y  aroused 

in  ^ne 
ght  .icar 
)me  back 
ther  hurt 

I  will  go 
rig.      But 

keep  the 

not  been 
nd  found 
iloon  pro- 


curing  waterproofs.  He  was  kneeling 
before  an  open  locker  when  she  entered 
the  little  cabin,  and,  turning  his  head,  he 
saw  her. 

"Are  you  going  too,  Miss?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  Clarke,  I  am  going." 

"  Then  will  you  put  this  flask  of  brandy 
into  your  pocket,  miss  ?  I  don't  like  to 
give  it  to  the  missus.  It's  kinder  sug- 
gestive  like." 

She  took  the  little  bottle,  and  while 
he  helped  her  on  with  her  waterproof 
cloak  he  spoke  again  in  hi^  kindly 
Northumbrian    familiarity: 

"  It 's  a  good  thing  wc  'vc  got  Mr.  Trist 
with  us  this  night,  that  it  is  !  He  's  what 
Captain  Barrow  would  call     strong  tower." 

Brenda  smiled  rather  wanly  as  she 
hurried  away. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  ;  "  I  am  very  glad 
we  have  him  to  rely  upon." 

Mrs.  Wylie  seemed  scarcely  to  notice 
that  Brenda  stepped  into  the  boat  and  sat 
down  beside  her.  The  little  lady  was 
making  a  brave  fight  against  her  growing 


A2  Suspense 

anxiety.      She   even    laughed   when    the 

sail    filled   with  a  loud   flap,   and   nearly 

precipitated     Cobbold     into     the     water. 

Crouching   low.   the   two   women   sat    in 

silence.     It  was  now  blowing  stiffly,  and 

perhaps  Cobbold  would  have  done  better 

to  take  a  reef  in  the  light  sail ;  but  in  his 

anxiety  to  reach  the  river  without  delay 

he  risked  the  lives  of  his  two  passengers 

more  freely  than  he  would  have  dared  to 

do   in   a  cooler  moment.     As  is  usually 

the  case,  his  confidence  was  greater  under 

excitement,   and    no    mishap    befell    the 

little  boat. 


*i  —- 


"T^ 


A  Sportsman's  Death 


43 


when  the 
,nd  nearly 
he  water, 
en  sat  in 
stiffly,  and 
[one  better 
but  in  his 
^out  delay 
passengers 
e  dared  to 
is  usually 
;ater  under 
befell    the 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  sportsman's  death 

WHEN  they  reached  the  mouth  of 
the  river  they  found  the  long- 
boat lying  alongside  the  huge  shelving 
rock  used  as  a  landing-stage  on  account 
of  its  convenience  during  all  varieties 
of  tide. 

The  man  watching  there  had  heard 
or  seen  nothing  of  Mr.  Trist  or  Admiral 
Wylie.  The  ladies  sat  for  some  time  in 
the  stern  of  the  gig,  wrapped  in  their 
waterproof  cloaks,  without  speaking. 
Then  Brenda  begged  to  be  landed.  She 
was  shivering  with  cold  and  anxiety. 
She  walked  slowly  up  the  smooth  sur- 
face of  the  rock  and  disappeared.  Once 
out  of  sight  of  the  two  boats  which  lay 
heaving  softly  on  the  bosom  of  the  rising 
tide,  she  quickened  her  pace,  keeping  to 
the   narrow  path   trodden   on   the  peaty 


44 


Suspense 


soil  by  Admiral  Wylie   and   Theo  Trist 
in     turn.      It    was     probable     that     the 
human    beings    who   had    passed    along 
that    scarcely    visible     track,    from     the 
days  of  the  Flood  down  to  the  time  that 
this  English  girl  pressed  her  way  through 
the  silver  birch-trees,   could   be  counted 
upon   the  fingers  of  two  hands.     There 
was   nothing    to  attract  the  curious   up 
the  deep  gorge  formed  by  this  unknown 
stream.      Far     inland,    over     impassable 
rocks,  lay  the  corner  of  a  huge  glacier 
from  whence   the  river  received   its  chill 
waters.     There  was  no  natural  beauty  to 
draw   thither   the  artist,   no   animal    life 
to  attract  the  naturalist,  no  vast  height 
to  tempt  the  mountaineer.     Here  century 
after  century  the  trout  had  lain,  head  up 
stream,  to  catch  what   God   might  send 
them.     In    the   lower  waters,  year  after 
year,  the  sturdy  salmon  had  pressed  past 
each  other    through   rill    and   whirlpool, 
with   gills    flattened    to    the    fresh,   cool 
waters   of  the   snow-field. 

In   all   human  probability  no  woman's 


eo  Trist 
lat  the 
I  along 
Dm  the 
me  that 
through 
counted 
There 
ious  up 
mknown 
[passable 
;   glacier 

its  chill 
jeauty  to 
mal  life 
,t  height 
I  century 

head  up 
ght  send 
ear  after 
ssed  past 
jvhirlpool, 
esh,   cool 

woman's 


A  Sportsman's  Death 


45 


footprint  had  impressed  itself  upon  that 
turf  before. 

The  valley  took  a  turn  westward  round 
a  great  sloping  forest  of  pine  and  silver- 
birch,  harmoniously  mingled,  about  half  a 
mile  from  the  sea,  and  soon  afterwards  the 
hills  closed  menacingly  over  the  noisy 
river.  The  water  here  was  very  rough  and 
broken.  At  times  a  great  smooth  pool, 
half  an  acre  in  extent,  twenty  feet  in  depth, 
would  lie  at  the  foot  of  a  series  of  roaring 
waterfalls  of  no  great  height,  but  infinite 
variety.  Again,  there  were  long  broken 
rapids,  which  only  a  salmon  could  expect 
to  stem,  and  here  and  there  smooth  runs 
almost  navigable  for  a  boat. 

Regardless  of  peaty  pool  and  treacher- 
ous rivulets  running  over  brilliant  turf, 
Brenda  hurried  on.  The  mere  bodily 
fatigue  was  a  comfort  to  her,  the  very  act 
of  breaking  the  small  branches  in  her  way 
a  solace.  It  was  now  nearly  midnight, 
and  already  on  the  snow-field  above  her 
the  pearly  pink  light  of  morning  crept  on 
its  glistening  way.     The  twilight  was  no 


,i:: 


46 


Suspense 


longer  lowering,  but  full  of  fresh  prcmi^i. 
A  new  day  softly  smiled  upon  the  silent 
land  which  had  known  no  night ;  but  to 
the  solitary  girl  it  brought  little  hope. 

Suddenly  she  stopped  and  listened 
intently.  A  distant  crackle  of  dry  wood 
beneath  a  human  tread  repeated  itself. 
Someone  was  approaching  rapidly. 

A    moment    later    Theo    Trist    stood 
before  her,   but  she   scarcely   recognized 
him.     Her  first  feeling  was  one  of  utter 
surprise  that  his  meek  eyes  could  look  so 
resolute.     The  man's  face  was  changed, 
and  he  who  stood  before  Brenda  was  not 
the   well-bred,   quiet   gentleman,  but  the 
lost  soldier.     She    did   not   realize    then 
that  he  had  been  fifteen  hours  on  his  feet 
with    hardly     any    food.      She     scarcely 
noticed   that  his   clothes   were   wet,   and 
clinging   to  his   limbs,   and  that  he  was 
without  his  waterproof.     All  she  saw,  all 
she  had  eyes  for,  was  that  strange  incon- 
grous  face  where  resolution  dominated  so 

suddenly. 

He  it  was  who  broke  the  silence,  and 


A  Sportsman's  Death 


47 


ic  silent 
: ;  but  to 

hope. 

listened 
TV  wood 
;d   itself. 

st  stood 
cognized 

of  utter 
1  look  so 
changed, 
.  was  not 
,  but  the 
ize  then 
n  his  feet 

scarcely 
wet,  and 
,t  he  was 
J  saw,  all 
ige  incon- 
linated  so 

ence,  and 


he  was  forced  to  shout,  because  they  were 
so  close  to  the  river. 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Wylie  ? "  he  asked. 

"She  is  at  the  mouth  of  the  river," 
replied   Brenda  —  "in  the  boat,  waiting." 

"  Come  away !  "  he  shouted,  beckoning 
with  his  head,  and  they  moved  through 
the  pine-wood  further  inland,  where  the 
brawl  of  the  stream  was  less  disagreeable. 

Then  he  took  her  hand  in  his,  and 
looked  down  into  her  face  with  uncon- 
scious scrutiny. 

"  You  must  go  back  to  her,  Brenda,"  he 
said,  "  and  tell  her  that  Admiral  Wylie  is 
dead.  I  found  him  in  a  whirlpool  about 
half  a  mile  above  here." 

"When  was  that.-*"  asked  the  girl 
mechanically. 

"Oh,  an  hour  ago.  I  have  been  all 
this  time  in  the  water  recovering  .  .  . 
getting  him  ashore." 

"Was  he  quite  dead.?" 

"  Quite  dead.  It  must  have  happened 
early  in  the  day,  for  his  lunch  was  still  in 
his  creel." 


48 


Suspense 


"Where  is  he  .  .  .  now?"  whispered 
Brenda,  looking  tiirough  the  trees  from 
which  Trist  had  emerged. 

"  Through  there,  on  the  bank.  I  began 
carrying  him  down  to  the  boat,  but  had 
to  give  it  up." 

She  said  nothing,  but  moved  a  step  or 
two  towards  the  spot  indicated.     Then  he 
took  her  hand  within  his  and  led  the  way. 
Presently  they   came  out  of  the   thicker 
wood  on  to  the  rocky   ground  near   the 
river,  and  soon  afterwards  came  into  sight 
of  a  still  form  lying  on  the  turf  beneath 
Trist's  waterproof.     There  were  stones  on 
the  corners  of  the  mackintosh  to  prevent 
it  being  blown  away,  but  the  wind  pene- 
trated between  them  and  the  stuff  rippled 
with  a  slight  sound.     The  upper  part  of 
the  body  only  was  covered,  and  there  was, 
in  the  wet  waders  and  misshapen  brogues, 
a   suggestion   of   simple   pride.      In   bad 
weather  the  Admiral  had  always  fished  in 
an  old  black  sou'-wester,  and  this  lay  by 
his   side   with    his   creel   and   rod.     The 
old  sportsman  had  died  in  harness,  with 


r^:^^w>-^-' ■n[-^-.^'^jggjia3rfSli!tS!!l/Vi^!tf'^''W^'^-'^'''^^ 


'hispercd 
DCS  from 

I  began 
but  had 

a  step  or 
Then  he 
the  way. 
i  thicker 
near  the 
into  sight 
;  beneath 
stones  on 

0  prevent 
ind  pene- 
iff  rippled 
sr  part  of 
there  was, 

1  brogues, 

In  bad 
,  fished  in 
lis  lay  by 
•od.  The 
ness,  with 


A  Sportsman's  Death  49 

the  quick  burr-r-r  of  the  reel  sounding  in 
his  cars  and  a  "taut  line"  bending  his 
rod ;  for  Trist  found  the  gut  broken. 

The  man  who  had  looked  on  death 
so  often,  who  had  slept  amidst  the  groans 
of  the  dying  and  the  heartrending  cries  of 
the  sore-wounded,  now  knelt  and  simply 
drew  back  the  covering  from  the  still 
gray  face.  Death  was  so  familiar  to  him 
that  the  sight  of  it  brought  no  shock, 
and  he  scarcely  realized  what  he  was 
doing.  Mechanically  Brenda  knelt  down 
on  the  turf,  her  dress  touching  the  dead 
man's  hand.  For  some  moments  she  re- 
mained thus,  while  the  rosy  light  of  dawn 
crept  down  the  mountain  side.  Behind 
her  stood  Trist,  silently  watching.  Pres- 
ently he  looked  round  and  noted  the  in- 
crease of  daylight;  then  he  touched  her 
shoulder. 

"Come,  Brenda,"  he  said.  "The  day 
is  breaking.  We  must  go.  I  will  walk 
back  with  you  to  the  boat." 

She  rose  and  shook  her  head  decisively. 

"  No,"  she  answered.     "  You  must  stay 
4 


50 


Sus 


pense 


hero  —  beside  him.     I  will  go  back  alone. 
It  is  bettor  for  nie  to  tell  Mrs.  Wylie." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  No.     I  am  not  afraid." 

She  spoke  in  her  simple,  qm'ct  way, 
which  was  not  without  a  certain  force, 
despite  her  gentle  voice.  It  was  no  boast 
of  courage  that  she  was  making,  but  a 
plain  statement  of  fact. 

Before  the  sun's  rays  had  crept  down 
the  bare  mountain  side  to  the  sea,  the 
two  boats  moved  away  from  the  rock 
that  seemed  to  guard  the  mouth  of  the 
river. 

In  the  gig —  the  first  boat  to  get  away 
—  were  seated  Mrs.  Wylie  and  Brenda, 
while  the  sailor  Cobbold  steered.  Trist 
followed  in  the  long-boat,  steering  him- 
self, while  the  sailor  crouched  down  for- 
ward. Between  the  two  men  lay,  beneath 
the  thwarts,  the  genial,  kind-hearted  old 
sportsman,  who  would  never  hear  the  glad 
rattle  of  the  reel  again,  who  would  no 
more  watch,  with  keen  dancing  eyes,  the 
straining   line.      Never   again   would   he 


'•'ff'gh'gg 


•^,^^'Ji^     i,J""i'JLL/Mi-'.^  -1 


A  Sportsman's  Death 


5» 


back  rilonc. 

Wylie." 

quired. 

qin'ct  way, 
rtain  force, 
'as  no  boast 
:ing,   but  a 

crept  down 
ic  sea,  the 
I  the  rock 
)uth  of  the 


recount  his  day's  adventures  in  the  cosy 
cabin,  giving  the  salmon  his  full  due, 
throwing  in  here  and  there  a  merry  little 
detail  to  his  own  discomfiture.  Now  he 
lay,  with  his  waders  slowly  drying,  his 
eyes  peacefully  closed,  his  brown,  weather- 
beaten  hands  limply  clenched.  Trist  had 
reeled  in  the  severed  line,  divided  the 
useless  rod,  and  laid  aside  the  empty  creel, 
all  in  his  silent,  emotionless  way,  with  no 
look  of  horror  in  his  soft  eyes. 


o  get  away 
nd  Brenda, 
red.  Trist 
ering  him- 

down  for- 
ay, beneath 
learted  old 
ar  the  glad 

would  no 
J  eyes,  the 

would   he 


Sa 


Suspense 


CHAPTER  V 


BAD   NEWS 


THE  Hermione  came  home  with  her 
bad  news  to  meet  gloomy  tidings. 
The  Eastern  Question  had  suddenly  taken 
a  turn  that  meant  war.  Trist  found  tele- 
grams  awaiting  him  at  Bergen  which 
called  him  to  England  by  the  quickest 
route.  He  left  the  same  evening,  reluc- 
tant and  yet  eager  to  go. 

If  Trist  had  hoped  to  pass  through 
London  without  meeting  anyone  except 
the  editor  of  the  mighty  journal  from 
whose  coffer  he  was  soon  to  draw  the 
income  of  a  Continental  prince,  he  was 
disappointed.  It  would  seem,  however, 
that  he  was  upon  this  point,  as  on  many, 
broadly  indifferent.  He  went  to  a  club, 
where  he  was  almost  certain  of  meetmg 
some  of  his  friends  -  a  club  of  which  the 
members  never  leave  town  because   the 


I 


Bad  News 


53 


e  with  her 
my  tidings. 
Jenly  taken 
found  tele- 
gen  which 
ne  quickest 
ning,  reluc- 

.ss   through 
^one  except 
)urnal   from 
o   draw  the 
ice,  he  was 
n,   however, 
as  on  many, 
t  to  a  club, 
of  meeting 
Df  which  the 
because   the 


calendar  bids  them  do  so;  never  quite 
lay  aside  their  labour;  and  appear  to 
sleep  when  others  are  awake,  working 
while  others  sleep. 

He  went  there  because  it  was  conven- 
iently near  at  hand,  and  he  was  sure  of 
having  rapid  attention  given  to  his  desires. 
As  he  entered  the  dining-room  a  young 
man  rose  from  one  of  the  small  square 
tables  with  dramatic  surprise.  ^^ 

"Theodore  Trist,  by  all  that  s  sacred! 
exclaimed  this  youth.     He  was  of  medium 
height  with  a  fair  moustache.     This  manly 
adornment  was  the  prominent  thing  about 
him.      But  for  it,  his   face   was   that  ot 
a  fair  and   somewhat  weak-minded  girh 
There  was  always  an  abundance  of  cutt 
and  deep  turn-down  collar,  of  which  the 
points  overlapped  the  flap  of  a  wide-cut 
waistcoat.     In   the  matter  of   neck-tie    a 
soft  silken  material  of  faded  hue  rivalled 
the  golden  moustache  in  obtruding  itself 
before  the  public  gaze.     Dark-blue   eyes 
devoid  of  depth,  and  a  slightly  aquiline 
nose,  complete   the   picture.     This   man 


■^ffc*"— **■ 


»^  Suspense 

was  no  ordinary  being.  Had  lie  been 
dressed  like  an  ordinary  being — like,  let 
us  say,  a  tea-broker  —  men  and  women 
would  still  have  looked  at  him  twice. 
Kensington  lion-hunters  would  still  have 
kept  him  in  touch,  so  to  speak,  on  the 
chance  of  his  developing  from  puppyhood 
into  cubhood,  and  so  on  to  the  maturity 
of  a  London  lion.  His  name  was  William 
Hicks.  In  order  to  battle  successfully 
against  such  a  heavy  handicap,  the  young 
man  was  forced,  like  a  good  general,  to 
spare  no  expense  in  his  outfit.  This 
most  commonplace  association  of  two 
good  English  names  cost  their  possessor 
as  much  per  annum  as  would  enable 
a  thrifty  maiden  lady  (or  four  German 
clerks)  to  live  comfortably. 

He  would  have  ^given  much  to  be 
labelled  by  such  a  nomenclature  as 
"  Theodore  Trist "  —  a  poetic  dbsimilation 
of  letters  quite  unnecessary  for  the  war- 
correspondent,  and  even  wasted  upon 
him.  His  work  would  have  been 
equally  popular  if  signed  William  ^Hrk- 


Bad  News 


S5 


d  he  been 
; — like,  let 
nd  women 
him  twice, 
d  still  have 
:ak,  on  the 
puppyhood 
le  maturity 
/as  William 
successfully 
,  the  young 
general,  to 
tfit.  This 
)n  of  two 
r  possessor 
uld  enable 
ur  German 

uch  to  be 
iclature  as 
assimilation 
3r  the  war- 
isted  upon 
have     been 


whereas  the  artist,  who  was  some  day 
going  to  surprise  the  old  world  and 
make  the  spirits  of  its  ancient  masters 
shake  in  their  ethereal  shoes,  was 
dragged  down  and  held  back  by  the 
drysalting  name  of  Hicks.  For  certain 
reasons,  to  which  even  the  unmercenary 
soul  of  William  was  forced  to  bow, 
there  was  no  hope  of  ever  changing  it 
for  something  more  poetic.  Certain  it 
was  (and  perhaps  the  artist  knew  it) 
that  there  were  many  houses  to  which 
Theodore  Trist  had  an  ever-welcome 
entry,  while  he  —  William  Hicks — was 
excluded.  It  could  only  be  the  name 
that  drew  this  line,  and,  indeed,  it  was 
in  many  cases  nothing  else. 

Without  any  great  show  of  cordiality, 
Trist  shook  the  long,  nerveless  hand 
extended  to  him.  He  even  went  so  far 
as  to  nod  familiarly  over  Hicks'  shoulder 
to  a  servant  who,  having  drawn  back  a 
chair,  fulfilled  his  immediate  duty  by 
waiting. 

"  Where    have    you    come    from,    old 


^ jfe 


56 


Suspense 


man  ?  "  asked  the  artist.     "  You  look  as  if 
you  had  been  sleeping  in  your  shirt  for  a 

week." 

Like  many  of  his  tribe,  Hicks  had  a 
great  notion   of   being   all   things   to   all 
men.      He    prided    himself    exceedingly 
upon    his     powers    of     adaptability     to 
environment.     With   men  he  was,  there- 
fore,   slangy;    with    women    tender    and 
poetic.     With  the  former  he  could   not 
be   manly,  and   for  this   quality  he   sub- 
stituted  an  inordinate   use   of    language 
more   descriptive   than   that   usually   em- 
ployed by  gentlemen  in  the   presence  of 
ladies.     Not  possessing  the  slightest  vein 
of  humour,  he  assumed  with  women  the 
poetic   mantle,    and  surrounded    himself 
for    the     time     being    with     a   halo    of 
melancholy.       There     are    people     who, 
while  endeavouring  to  be  all  things,  are 
nothing  — while  seeking  to  render  them- 
selves valuable  to  the  many,  are  of  use  to 

none. 

"  I    have   not   been   sleeping   much   in 
anything,"  replied  Trist,  "  and  just  at  the 


V  « 


^ou  look  as  if 
ur  shirt  for  a 

Hicks  had  a 
things  to  ail 
exceedingly 
aptability  to 
le  was,  there- 
tender  and 
he  could  not 
laiity  he   sub- 

of  language 
t  usually  em- 
e   presence  of 

slightest  vein 
;h  women  the 
inded  himself 
h    a   halo    of 

people  who, 
all  things,  are 

render  them- 
,  are  of  use  to 


much   in 
,nd  just  at  the 


Ding 


Bad  News 


57 


moment  a  wash  is  what  I  require.  After 
that  some  dinner." 

This  served  as  an  answer  to  Hicks,  and 
an  order  to  the  waiter  at  the  same  time ; 
and  with  a  nod  Trist  passed  on  to  the 
dressing-rooms. 

"Where  will  Mr.  Trist  dine?"  asked 
Hicks,  turning  to  the  waiter,  and  speak- 
ing somewhat  sharply,  as  people  do  who 
fear  the  ridicule  of  their  inferiors. 

"At  my  table,  sirl"with  a  certain  air 
of  possession. 

"  Then  just  move  my  plate  .  .  .  and 
things  ...  to  the  same,  will  you  ?  " 

When  the  war-correspondent  returned 
to  the  dining-room,  he  found  Hicks 
established  at  the  table  where  he  in- 
variably sat,  and  the  waiter  holding  a 
chair  in  readiness  for  him  with  a  face  of 
the  most  complete  stolidity.  Without 
betraying  either  pleasure  or  annoyance, 
he  took  the  proffered  chair  and  attacked 
his  soup  in  a  business-like  way,  which 
did  not  promise  conversational  leisure. 

"  In  a  deuce  of  a  hurry,"  suggested  the 
artist. 


ijBiiffiai'MMnBO 


h 


eg  Suspense 

"  Yes.     Have  to  catch  a  train." 
"  Going  off   to   the  East,  I   suppose  ? " 
asked   Hicks  carelessly. 

With  his  shallow  blue  eyes  persistently 
fixed    on    Trist's    face,    he    stroked    his 
moustache    daintily. 
"  Yes." 
"  To-night  ? " 

"  At  eight-twenty,"  replied  Trist,  meet- 
ing his  gaze  with  gentle  impatience. 

"Ah!  Lady  Pearcr  was  asking  me 
the  other  day  if  you  were  there,  or  on 
the  way  to  the  seat  of  war." 

"  Lady  Fearer  ?  Don't  know  her," 
observed   Trist,   with   his   mouth   full   of 

bread. 

"  She  seemed  to  know  you." 

The  suggestion  of  a  smile  flickered 
across  Trist's  face,  but  his  entire  atten- 
tion was  absorbed  just  then  by  a  bony 
piece  of  turbot.  He  made  no  answer, 
and  silently  shelved  the  subject  m  a 
manner  which  was  not  strictly  com 
plimentary  to  Mr.  Hicks'  fair  and  aristo- 
cratic friend. 


"T 


Bad  News 


59 


ppose  ?  '■ 

■sistently 
ked    his 


st,  meet- 
ce. 

king    me 
e,  or  on 

3w    her," 
h   full   of 


flickered 
tire  atten- 
»y  a  bony 
o  answer, 
ject  in  a 
ctly  com 
nd  aristo- 


Thc    artist    was    one   of   those   exceed- 
ingly  pleasant    persons   who    can   never 
quite  realize  that  their  presence  and  con- 
versation  might,    without   serious    incon- 
venience, be  dispensed  with.     The  mere 
fact  of  being  seen  in  friendly  intercourse 
with   a   person    of    his   social   distinction 
was,  in  his  own  simple  heart,  worthy  of 
the    consideration   of    greater   men    than 
Theodore  Trist.     In  recounting  the  fact 
later,  of  his  having  dined  with  the  cele- 
brated war-correspondent  on   the  eve   of 
his  departure   for  Bulgaria,  he  took  ex- 
ceeding great  care  to  omit  the  mention 
of  certain  details.     Moreover,  he  allowed 
it    to   be    understood    that   the    farewell 
feast   was   organized    by  Trist,  and    that 
there  was  some  subtle  political   meaning 
in  the  hurried  interview  thus  obtained. 

"Trist,"  he  said,  with  a  suggestion  of 
melancholy,  to  Lady  Fearer  and  other  of 
his  friends,  "  is  a  strange  fellow.  He  has 
a  peculiar  repelling  manner,  which  causes 
people  to  imagine  that  he  is  indiffer- 
ent  to  them.     Now,  when   I  dined  with 


6o 


Suspense 


him    at   the    'Press'    the   other    night," 

etc.,  etc. 

Trist  continued  his  dinner  with  that 
tranquillity  of  demeanour  which  marked 
his  movements  upon  all  occasions,  but 
more  especially,  perhaps,  when  he  was 
displeased  or  very  much  on  the  alert. 
The  silence  which  followed  the  collapse 
of  the  Lady  Fearer  incident  did  not  appear 
in  the  least  irksome  to  him,  whatever  it 
may  have  been  to  his  companion. 

Hicks  toyed  with  the  rind  of  his  cheese, 
and  wondered  whether  the  novel  bow  of 
his  voluminous  dress-tie  was  straight. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said  at  length,  "  have 
you  not  been  in  Norway  with  the 
Wylies  ? " 

The  young  artist  had  at  one  time  been 
a  protege  of  Mrs.  Wylie's,  but  her  pro- 
tection had  been  gradually  withdrawn. 

"  The  fair  Brenda  was  with  them,  n'est- 

Trist  broke  his  bread  with  grave 
deliberation  and  looked  stolid.  After  a 
momentary  pause  he  raised  his  eyes  to 
his  companion's  face. 


J] 


;ith  that 
marked 

ons,  but 
he   was 

[\e  alert, 
collapse 

ot  appear 

latever  it 

lis  cheese, 
i\  bow  of 
ight. 

th,  "  have 
with     the 

time  been 
;  her  pro- 
idrawn. 
em,  n'est- 

th     grave 

After  a 

s  eyes  to 


Bad  News 


6i 


"  Eh  ?  "  he  murmured  softly. 

"Miss  Gilholme,"  explained  the  other, 
with  an  involuntary  change  of  manner. 

"  Yes,  she  was  there." 

"  I  thought,"  reflected  Hicks  aloud,  as 
he  stroke  his  moustache  contentedly, 
"  that  I  remembered  her  telling  me  that 
she  was  going  to  Norway.     How  is  she  ? " 

"  Very  well,  thank  you." 

"  Is  she  any  stouter  ?  "  with  affectionate 
interest. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Trist  suavely. 

"Because,"  continued  the  other  in  his 
best  "  private-view-of-the-Academy  "  style, 
"  that  is  the  only  fault  I  have  to  find 
with  her.  Her  figure  is  perfect,  except 
that  she  is  a  trifle  too  slight  —  if  you 
understand." 

"  Indeed,"  very  gently. 

"  From  an  artistic  point  of  view,  of 
course,"  explained  Hicks  with  a  graceful 
wave  of  his  hand,  full  of  modest  depre- 
cation. For  some  unknown  reason  ar 
sudden  sense  of  discomfort  had  come  over 
him. 


J'^ 


'll 


52  Suspense 

"  Ah,    I   am    not   an  artist  .  .  .  thank 

goodness ! " 

Hicks  glanced  uneasily  across  the  table 
at  his  companion.  He  now  began  to  per- 
ceive that  he  had  taken  the  wrong  road 
towards  gaining  the  esteem  (or  perhaps 
the  toleration)  of  this  plain-spoken  student 

of  war. 

Trist  was  not  to  be  impressed  by  the 
social  position  of  this  dilettante  dabbler 
in  the  fine  arts.     Soul,  pure  unvarnished 
soul,    had    no    effect    upon    his    mental 
epidermis.     Then   a  brilliant   inspiration 
came     to     this     ambitious     youth    who 
attempted  to  be  all  things   to  all   men. 
For  once  he  would  be  natural.     On  this 
one  occasion   sincerity  should   grace  his 
actions  and  his  wondrous  thoughts. 

"I  say,  Trist,"  he  remarked  almost 
earnestly,  "I  met  Martin  of  the  Royal 
Engineers  the  other  day,  and  he  told  me 
that  it  is  common  mess-room  gossip  in 
Ceylon  that  Alice  Huston  is  having  a 
miserable  life  of  it  out  there." 

Trist   had  almost  finished   his  dinner. 


.  .  .  thank 

s  the  table 
gan  to  per- 
/rong  road 
or  perhaps 
;en  student 

5ed  by  the 
lite  dabbler 
invarnished 
his    mental 
inspiration 
^outh    who 
o  all   men. 
il    On  this 
i   grace  his 
lUghts. 
Iced    almost 
the    Royal 
he  told  me 
n   gossip  in 
is   having  a 

his  dinner. 


Bad  News  63 

He  looked  up  gravely,  and  there  was  in 
hii  eyes  a  worried  expression,  which, 
however,  the  artist  (who,  like  most  self- 
satisfied  people,  was  not  observant)  failed 
to  see. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  quietly, 
almost  indifferently. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  other  in  the  per- 
functorily sympathetic  tone  which  we  all 
assume  while  revelling  in  the  recital  of 
evil  tidings.  "They  say  that  Huston 
drinks,  that  he  is  madly  jealous  and 
coldly  indifferent  by  turns.  He  always 
was  a  brute.  I  remember  when  he  was 
young  he  was  a  gourmand,  and  professed 
to  be  a  great  judge  of  claret.  Now  a  boy 
who  thinks  of  his  interior  when  he  ought 
be  to  hardening  his  muscles  will,  in  all 
human  probability,  turn  out  a  drinker." 

While  Hicks  was  giving  the  benefit 
of  his  opinion,  Trist  had  risen  from  the 
table,  and  now  stood  with  his  two  hands 
upon  the  back  of  his  chair  looking  down 
thoughtfully  at  his  companion.  The 
artist  was  peeling  an  early  pear  with  great 


I 


64 


Suspense 


delicacy  of  fingering.  Before  the  wir- 
correspondent  had  time  to  say  anything, 
he  continued: 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said  somewhat  pathcti- 
cally,  "that  you  and  I  are  more  interested 
in  the  Gilholmes  than  most  people.  To 
a  certain  extent  they  rely  upon  us  as  old 
friends.  That  is  why  I  tell  you  this.  I 
never  repeat  gossip,  you  know." 

The  last  addition  was  made  in  a  dep- 
recating   way,   as   if   to    apologize  for   a 
celebrity  which   placed    certain    personal 
peculiarities  within  public  reach.     Trist 
had  not  heard  that  reticence  was  one  of 
his  companion's   characteristics,   and    he 
treated  the  remark  with  silent  contempt. 
He  did  not  even  smile  in  response  to  the 
sympathetic  glance   of  the   soulless  blue 

eyes. 

"  If,"  he  observed,  "  they  rely  upon  us, 
they  will  expect  us  to  hold  our  tongues. 
The  truest  friendship  is  shown  in  talking 
of  anything  but  one's  friends.  I  must  go 
now.     Good-night ! " 


Sisters 


«5 


the    wir- 
anything, 

t  pathcti- 
ntc  rested 
)ple.  To 
us  as  old 
I  this.     I 

in  a  dep- 
ize  for  a 
personal 
;h.     Trist 
as  one  of 
J,   and    he 
contempt. 
)nse  to  the 
lUess  blue 

■f  upon  us, 

ir  tongues. 

in  talking 

I  must  go 


CHAPTER  VI 

SISTERS 

MORE  than  one  idler  in  Plymouth 
Station,  one  morning  in  October, 
turned  his  head  to  look  again  at  two 
women  walking  side  by  side  on  the  plat- 
form near  to  the  London  train.  One,  the 
taller  of  the  two,  was  exceptionally  beauti- 
ful, of  a  fair  delicate  type,  with  an  almost 
perfect  figure  and  a  face  fit  for  a  model 
of  the  Madonna,  so  pure  in  outline  was  it, 
so  innocent  in  its  meaning.  The  younger 
woman  was  slightly  shorter.  She  was 
clad  in  mourning,  which  contrasted  some- 
what crudely  with  the  brighter  costume 
of  her  companion.  It  was  evident  that 
these  two  were  sisters;  they  walked  in 
the  same  easy  way,  and  especially  notable 
was  a  certain  intrepid  carriage  of  the 
head. 

By  the  side  of  her  sister,  Brenda  Gil- 
s' ^ 


66 


Suspense 


IB' 


holme  might  easily  pass  unnoticed.  Mrs. 
Huston  was,  in  the  usual  senso  of  the 
word,  a  beautiful  woman,  and  such  wo- 
men live  in  an  atmosphere  of  notoriety. 
Wherever  they  go  they  are  worshipped 
at  a  distance  by  those  beneath  them  in 
station,  patronized  by  those  above  them, 
respected  by  their  equals,  because,  for- 
sooth, face  and  form  are  moulded  with 
delicacy  and  precision.  The  mind  of 
such  a  woman  is  of  little  importance; 
the  person  is  pleasing,  and  more  is  not 
demanded. 

Brenda  was  not  beautiful ;  she  was  only 
pretty,  with  a  refinement  of  heart  which 
was  visible  in  her  delicate  face.  But  her 
prettiness  was  in  no  way  tainted  with 
weakness,  as  was  her  sister's  beauty.  She 
was  strong  and  thoughtful,  with  a  woman's 
faculty  for  hiding  these  unwelcome  quali- 
ties from  the  eyes  of  inferior  men.  She 
had  grown  up  in  the  shadow  of  this  beau- 
tiful sister,  and  men  had  not  cared  to  seek 
for  intellect  where  they  saw  only  a  re- 
flected beauty.     She  had  passed  through 


nuanttM^T-j*'*' 


ced.  Mrs. 
nso  of  the 
such  wo- 
:  notoriety. 
»?orshippcd 
h  them  in 
DOve  them, 
cause,  for- 
alded  with 
e  mind  of 
Tiportance ; 
lore  is  not 

le  was  only 
eart  which 
!.  But  her 
inted  with 
auty.  She 
1  a  woman's 
:ome  quali- 
men.  She 
:  this  beau- 
red  to  seek 
only  a  re- 
ed through 


Sisters 


67 


a  social  notoriety,  but  eager  eyes  had  only 
glanced  at  her  in  passing.  She  had 
merely  been  Alice  Gilholme's  sister,  and 
now — hereon  Plymouth  platform  —  Alice 
Huston  was  assuming  her  old  superiority. 

The  sisters  had  met  on  the  steamboat 
landing  a  few  moments  previously.  A 
rattling  drive  through  the  town  had  fol- 
lowed, and  now  they  were  able  to  speak 
together  alone  for  the  first  time. 

"My  dear,"  Mrs.  Huston  was  saying, 
"  he  will  be  home  by  the  next  boat  if  he 
can  raise  the  money.  We  cannot  count 
on  more  than  a  week's  start." 

"  And,"  inquired  Brenda,  "  can  he  raise 
the  money  ? " 

"  Oh  yes !  If  he  can  get  as  far  as  the 
steamboat  office  without  spending  it." 

Brenda  looked  at  her  sister  in  a  curious 
way. 

•'  Spending  it  on  what  ? " 

"On  — drink!" 

Mrs.  Huston  was  not  the  woman  to 
conceal  any  of  her  own  grievances  from 
quixotically  unselfish  motives. 


68 


Suspense 


t 


m. 


Brenda  thought  for  some  momenls 
before  replying. 

"Then,"  she  said  at  length,  with  some 
determination,  "we  must  make  sure  of 
our  start,  if,  that  is,  you  are  still  deter- 
mined to  leave  him." 

Mrs.  Huston  was  looking  down  at  her 
sister's  neat  black  dress,  about  which  there 
was  a  subtle  air  of  refined  luxury,  which 
seems  natural  to  some  women,  and  part  of 
their  being. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  suppose  we  must.  By  the 
way,  dear,  you  are  in  mourning  ...  for 
whom  ? " 

"  For  Admiral  Wylie,"  replied  Brenda 
patiently. 

"But  it  is  two  months  —  is  it  not?  — 
since  his  death,  and  he  was  no  relation. 
I  think  it  is  unnecessary.  Black  is  so 
melancholy,  though  it  suits  your  figure." 

"  I  am  living  with  Mrs.  Wylie,"  Brenda 
explained  with  unconscious  irony.  "  Are 
you  still  determined  that  you  cannot  live 
with  your  husband,  Alice  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  he  is  a  brute  !     I  am  not  an 


momenls 

vith  some 
:  sure  of 
till  deter- 

wn  at  her 
iiich  there 
ry,  which 
nd  part  of 

;.  By  the 
5  ...  for 

d   Brcnda 

it  not?  — 
3  relation, 
lack  is  so 
r  figure." 
2,"  Brenda 
ly.  "  Are 
:annot  live 

im  not  an 


Sisters  69 

impulsive  person,  but  I  think  that  if  he 
should  catch  me  again,  it  is  very  probable 
that  I  should  do  something  desperate  — 
kill  myself,  or  something  of  that  sort." 

"  I  do  not  think,"  observed  Brenda 
serenely,  "that  you  would  ever  kill  your- 
self." 

The  beautiful  woman  laughed  in  an 
easy  way,  which  was  one  of  her  many 
social  gifts.  It  was  such  a  pleasantly  in- 
fectious laugh,  so  utterly  light-hearted, 
and  so  ready  in  its  vocation  of  filling  up 
awkward  pauses. 

"  No,  perhaps  not.  But  in  the  mean- 
time, what  is  to  become  of  me?  Will 
Mrs.  Wylie  take  me  in  for  a  day  or  two, 
or  shall  we  seek  lodgings  ?  I  have  some 
money,  enough  to  last  a  month  or  so ; 
but  I  must  have  two  new  dresses." 

"  Mrs.  Wylie  has  kindly  said  that  you 
can  stay  as  long  as  you  like.  But,  Alice, 
it  would  never  do  to  stay  in  London. 
You  must  get  away  to  some  small  place 
on  the  sea-coast,  or  somewhere  where 
you  will  not  be  utterly  bored,  and  keep 


70 


Suspense 


in   hiding   until   he  come'j   home,  and    I 
can  find  out  ^•hat  he  intends  to  do." 

"My  dear,  I  shall  be  utterly  bored 
anywhere  except  in  London.  But 
Brenda,  tell  me  .  .  .  you  have  got  into 
a  habit    of    talking    exactly    like    Theo 

Tristl" 

Brenda   met    her  sister's   eyes  with   a 

smile. 

"  How    funny  ! "    she     exclaimed.      "  1 

have   not   noticed   it." 

"  No,  of  course ;  you  —  would  not 
notice   it.     When   will   he  be  home?" 

The  girl  stopped  and  looked  critically 
at  an  advertisement  suspended  on  the  wall 
near  at  hand.  It  was  a  huge  representa- 
tion of  a  coloured  gentleman  upon  his 
native  shore,  making  merry  over  a  com- 
plicated pair  of  braces. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  replied  in- 
differently. 

"  V/e,"  continued  Mrs.  Huston,  follow- 
ing out  her  own  train  of  thought,  "arc 
so  helpless.  We  want  a  man  to  stand 
by  us.     Of  course  papa  is  of  no  use.     I 


e'j  home,  and  I 
nds  to  do." 
»e  utterly  bored 
London.  But 
Li  have  got  into 
ictly    like    Theo 

er's   eyes  with  a 

exclaimed.      "  1 

ou  —  would  not 
he  be  home?" 
looked  critically 
ended  on  the  wall 
,  huge  representa- 
itleman  upon  his 
[lerry  over  a  corn- 
she      replied     in- 

•s.  Huston,  foUow- 

of  thought,  "are 

;  a  man  to   stand 

I  is  of  no  use.     I 


Sisters 


71 


suppose  he  is  spouting  somewhere  about 
the  country.     He  generally  is." 

"  No,"  replied  Brcnda,  with  a  wonder- 
ful tolerance.  "  We  cannot  count  on 
him.  He  is  in  Ireland.  I  had  a  post- 
card from  him  the  other  day.  He  said 
that  I  wa«;  not  to  be  surprised  or  shocked 
to  hear  that  he  was  in  prison.  He  is 
trying  to  get  himself  arrested.  It  is,  he 
says,  all  part  of  the  campaign." 

Again  Mrs.  Huston's  pretty  laughter 
made  things  pleasant  and  sociable. 

"I  wonder  what  that  means,"  she 
exclaimed,  smoothing  a  wrinkle  out  of 
the  front  of  her  jacket  for  the  benefit  of 
a  military-looking  man,  with  a  cigar  in 
his  mouth,  who  stared  offensively  as  he 
passed. 

Brenda  shrugged  her  shoulders  slightly, 
and  said  nothing.  She  did  not  appear  to 
attach  a  very  great  importance  to  her 
father's  political  movements,  in  which 
culpable  neglect  she  was  abetted  by  the 
whole  of  England. 

"What  we    require,"    continued    Mrs. 


iijilHIIHOfcr    I'-T.** 


-2  Suspense 

Huston,    "is     an     energetic     man    with 

braii.s." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  energetic  men  with 
brains  have  in  most  cases  their  own 
affairs  to  look  after.  It  is  only  the 
idle  ones  with  tongues  who  have  ^  time 
to  devote  to  other  people's  business." 

"The  'brute,'  my  dear,  is  clever;  we 
must  remember  that.  And  he  is  terribly 
obstinate.  There  is  a  sort  of  stubborn 
bloodhoundism  about  him  which  makes 
me  shiver  when  I  think  that  he  is  even 
now  after  me,  in  all  probability." 

"We  must  be  cool  and  cunning,  ana 
brave  to  fight  against  him,"  said  Brend« 

practically. 

At  this  moment  the  guard  came  tor- 
ward,  and  held  the  door  of  their  com- 
partment invitingly  open.  They  got  in, 
and  found  themselves  alone.  They  were 
barely  seated,  opposite  to  each  other, 
when  the   train   glided  smoothly   away. 

Brenda  sat  a  little  forward,  with  her 
gloved  hand  resting  on  the  window, 
which  had   been   lowered  by   the   guard. 


t 


„..  __iv^.-. 


man 


with 


etic  men  with 
2S  their  own 
:  is  only  the 
ho  have  time 
business." 

is  clever;  we 
[  he  is  terribly 
■t  of   stubborn 

•which  makes 
lat  he  is  even 
>lity. 

.  cunning,  and 
1,"  said  Brend« 

uard  came  for- 
of   their  com- 
They  got   in, 
ne.     They  were 
to   each    other, 
noothly  away, 
ward,   with   her 
1    the     window, 
by   the   guard. 


Sisters 


7% 


They  were  seated  on  the  landward  side 
of  the  train,  and  as  she  looked  out  her 
eyes  rested  on  the  rising  hills  to  the 
north,  with  a  vague,  unseeing  gaze. 

A  slight  movement  made  by  Mrs. 
Huston  caused  her  at  length  to  look 
across,  and  the  two  sisters  sat  for  a 
second  searching  each  other's  eyes  for 
the  old  heartwhole  frankness  which 
never  seems  to  survive  the  death  of 
childhood  and  the  birth  of  separate 
interests   in   life. 

"  Theo,"  said  the  elder  woman  signifi- 
cantly at  last,  » is  brave  and  cool  and 
cunning,    Brenda." 

The  girl  made  an  effort,  but  the  old 
childish  confidence  was  dead.  From 
Theo  Tr'st,  the  disciple  of  stoicism,  she 
had  perhaos  learnt  something  of  a  creed 
which,  if  a  mistaken  one,  renders  its  fol- 
lowers of  great  value  in  the  world,  for  they 
never  intrude  their  own  private  feelings 
upon  public  attention.  That  effort  was 
the  last.  It  was  a  beginning  in  itself  — 
the  first  stone  cf  a  wall  destined  to  rise 


EH 


74 


Suspense 


between    the    two   sisters,   built    by   the 
gray  hands  of  Time. 

"  But,"  suggested  Brenda,  "  Theo  is  in 

Bulgaria." 

Mrs.  Huston  smiled  with  all  the  con- 
scious power  of  a  woman  who,  without 
being  actually  vain,  knows  the  mar- 
ket value  and  the    moral    weight  of  her 

beauty. 

"  Suppose  I  telegraphed  to  him  that  I 
wanted  him  to  come  to  me  at  once." 

Bi-enda  fixed  her  eyes  upon  her  sister's 
face.     For  a  second  her  lip  quivered. 

"You  must  not  do  that,"  she  said,  in 
such  a  tone  of  invincible  opposition  that 
her  sister  changed  colour,  and  looked 
somewhat  hastily  in  another  direction. 

'  I  suppose,"  murmured  the  elder 
woman  after  a  short  silence,  "that  it  is 
quite  impossible  to  find  out  when  he  may 

return  ?  " 

"Quite  impossible.  This  'Eastern 
Question,'  as  it  is  called,  is  so  compli- 
cated that  I  have  given  up  trying  to  fol- 
low it— besides,  I  do  not  see  what  Theo 


Sisters 


IS 


by   the 

heo  is  in 

the  con- 
>,  without 
the  mar- 
ht  of  her 

im  that  I 

ice." 

ler  sister's 

ered. 

le  said,  in 

iition  that 

id    looked 

irection. 

;he     elder 

"that  it  is 

len  he  may 

'  Eastern 
so  compu- 
ting to  fol- 
what  Theo 


has  to  do  with  the  matter.     We  must  act 

alone,  Alice." 

"  But  women  are  so  helpless." 

Brenda    smiled    in   a   slightly   ironical 

way. 

"Why  should  they  be.?"  she  asked 
practically.  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  Captain 
Huston.  He  is  a  gentleman,  at  all 
events."  *-  ; 

"  He  was  !  "  put  in  his  wife  bitterly. 

"  And  I  suppose  there  is  something  left 
of  his  former  self.?" 

"Not  very  much,  my  dear.  At  least, 
that  phase  of  his  present  condition  has 
been  religiously  hidden  from  my  affec- 
tionate '::aze." 

Brenda  drew  her  gloves  pensively  up 
her  wrists,  smoothing  out  the  wrinkles 
in  the  black  kid.  There  was  in  her 
demeanour  an  air  cf  capable  attention, 
something  between  that  accorded  by  a 
general  to  his  aide-de-camp  on  the  field 
of  battle,  and  the  keen  watchfulness  of  a 
physician  while  his  patient  speaks. 

"  Theo,"     she     said     conversationally, 


76 


Suspense 


"would  be  a  great  comfort  to  us.  He 
is  so  steadfast  and  so  entirely  reliable. 
But  we  must  do  without  him.  We  will 
manage  somchov/." 

"  I  am  horribly  afraid,  Brenda.  It  has 
just  come  to  me;  I  have  never  felt  it 
before.  You  seem  to  take  it  so  seriously, 
and  .  .  .  and  I  expected  to  find  Theo  at 

home. " 

"Theo  is  one  of  the  energetic  men 
with  brains  who  have  their  own  affairs 
to  attend  to,"  said  Brenda,  in  her  way. 
"We  are  not  his  affairs;  besides,  as  I 
mentioned  before,  he  is  in  Bulgaria— in 
his  element,  in  the  midst  of  confusion, 
insurrection,  war." 

"  But,"  repeated  Mrs.  Huston,  with 
aggr?,vating  unconsciousness  of  the  ob- 
vious vanity  of  her  words,  "suppose  I 
telegraphed  for  him?" 

Brenda  laughed,  and  shook  her  head. 

"I    have    a    melancholy    p-esen timent 

that     if    you    telegraphed    for    him     he 

would  not  come.     There  is  a  vulgar  but 

weighty  pro\'erb  air.-ut  making  one's  own 


Sisters 


us.     He 

■   reliable. 

We  will 

1.     It  has 

er   felt    it 

seriously, 

i  Theo  at 


11 


bed,  which  he  might  recommend  to  our 

notice." 

"  Then  Theo  must  have  changed  ! " 
Brenda   raised    her    round    blue   eyes, 

and  glanced  sideways  out  of  the  window. 

She  was  playing   idly  with  the  strap  of 

the  sash,  tapping  the  back  of  her  hand 

with  it. 


retic  men 
wn  affairs 
her  way. 
ides,  as  I 
garia —  in 
confusion, 

ston,    with 

Df   the   ob- 

suppose   I 


ler  head, 
^sentiment 
r    him     he 
vulgar  but 
■  one's  own 


78 


Suspense 


CHAPTER  VII 

ALICE    RETURNS 

IN  her  pleasant  room  on  the  second-floor 
of    Suffolk    Mansions,    Mrs.    Wyhe 
awaited  the  arrival  of  the  two  sisters. 

From  without  there  came  a  suggestion 
of  bustling  life  in  the  continuous  hum  of 
wheel-traffic   and   an   occasional   cry,  not 
unmelodious,    from     enterprising     news- 
vendors.      Within,   everything   spoke    of 
peaceful,  pleasant   comfort.      There   was 
a  large  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room 
literally  covered  with  periodical  and  per- 
manent literature -a  pleasant   table   to 
sit  by,  for  there  was  invariably  somethmg 
of  interest  lying  upon  it,  a   safe  stimu- 
lant  to   conversation.      The   dullest   and 
shyest  man  could  always  find  something 
to  say  to  the  ready  listener  who  sat  m  a 
low  cane-chair  just  beyond  the  table,  near 
the  fire,  with  her  back  to   the  window. 


Alice  Returns 


79 


Econd-floor 
[rs.    Wylie 
isters. 
suggestion 
(US  hum  of 
al   cry,  not 
,ing     news- 
;   spoke    of 
There   was 
if  the  room 
al  and  per- 
it    table   to 
y  something 
safe  stimu- 
dullest   and 
[  something 
vho  sat  in  a 
e  table,  near 
the  window. 


There  were  many  strange  ornaments 
about,  and  a  number  of  curiosities  such 
as  women  rarely  purchase  in  foreign 
lands;  also  sundry  small  impedimenta 
suggestive  of  things  nautical. 

Withal  there  was  in  the  very  atmos- 
phere a  sense  of  womanliness.  The 
subtle  odours  emanating  from  wooden 
constructions,  conceived  and  executed  by 
dusky  strangers,  were  overpowered  by 
the  healthier  and  livelier  smell  of  flowers. 
Heliotrope  nestled  modestly  in  low  vases 
from  Venice.  There  was  also  mignonette, 
and  on  the  mantelpiece  a  great  snowy 
bunch  of  Japanese  anemones  thrust  into 
a  bronze  vase  from  that  same  distant 
land,  all  looking,  as  it  were,  in  different 
directions,  each  carrying  its  graceful  head 
in  a  different  way,  no  two  alike,  and  yet 
all  lovely,  as  only  God  can  make  things. 

I  cannot  explain  in  what  lay  the  charm 
of  Mrs.  Wylie's  drawing-room,  though  it 
must  have  emanated  from  the  lady  her- 
self. There  is  no  room  like  it  that  I 
know  of,   where   both  men   and   women 


-■MBMWaE* 


8o 


Suspense 


experience  a  sudden  feeling  of  homeli- 
ness, an  entire  sense  of  refined  ease.  The 
surroundings  were  not  too  fragile  for  the 
touch  of  a  man,  and  yet  there  was  in 
them  that  subtle  influence  of  grace  and 
daintiness  which  appeals  to  the  more 
delicate  fibres  of  a  woman's  soul,  and 
makes  her  recognise  her  own  element. 

The  widowed  lady  herself  was  little 
changed  since  we  last  met  her  in  the  Far 
North.  But  those  who  knew  her  well 
were  cognizant  of  the  fact  that  the  out- 
ward signs  of  late  bereavement  so  grace- 
fully worn  were  no  cynical  demonstration 
of  a  conventional  grief.  The  white-haired 
old  man  sleeping  among  the  nameless  sons 
of  an  Arctic  land  was  as  truly  mourned  by 
this  cheerful  English  woman  as  ever  hus- 
band could  desire.  There  was  perhaps  a 
smaller  show  of  cultivated  grief,  such  as 
the  world  loves  to  contemplate,  than  was 
strictly  in  keeping  with  her  widow's  cap. 
No  lowered  tones  pulled  up  a  harmless 
burst  of  hilarity.  No  smothered  sighs 
were  emitted  at   inappropriate   times   in 


:  homeli- 
se.  The 
le  for  the 
;  was  in 
;race  and 
he  more 
oul,  and 
lament, 
ivas  little 
1  the  Far 
her   well 

the  out- 
so  grace- 
)nstration 
ite-haired 
eless  sons 
)urned  by 
ever  hus- 
perhaps  a 
[,  such  as 
than  was 
low's  cap. 

harmless 
red    sighs 

times  in 


Alice  Returns 


8i 


order  to  impress  upon  a  world,  already 
full  enough  of  sorrow,  the  presence  of  an 
abiding  woe. 

But  Brenda   Gilholme   knew   that   the 
cure   was   incomplete.     She   had   carried 
through,   to   the  end,   the   task    left   her 
by    Trist.       The    Hermione    lay    snugly 
anchored  by  the  oozy  banks  of  a  Suffolk 
river,  and  Mrs.  Wylie,  was,  so  to  speak, 
herself  again— that    is  to  say,  she  was 
once  more  a   woman   full  of  ready  sym- 
pathy, gay  with  the  gay,  sorrowing  with 
the  afiflicted.     At  all  events,  the  general 
world   opined   that    Mrs.    Wylie   was  as 
jolly  as  ever.     Moreover,  they  insinuated 
in    a     good-natured     manner     that     the 
Admiral   was,   after  all,  many  years   her 
senior,  and  that  she  in  all  human  prob- 
ability   had   some  considerable    span    of 
existence  to  get   through  yet,   which   he 
could  not  have  shared  owing  to  advance 
of  infirmity. 

One  admirable  characteristic  had  sur- 
vived, however,  this  change  in  her  life. 
The  cheery  independence  of  this  lady  was 


8  2  Suspense 

untouched  by  the  hand  of  sorrow.  It  was 
her  creed  that  at  all  costs  a  smile  should 
l)e  ready  for  the  world. 

The  lady's  quick  ear  detected  the  sound 
of  a  cab  suddenly  stopping,  and  when  a 
bell  rang  a  few  moments  later  she  laid 
aside  her  work  and  rose  from  her  seat. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  "  of  what  tragedy 
or  comedy  this  may  be  the  beginning." 

There  was  a  certain  matronly  grace  in 
her  movements  as  she  opened  the  door 
and  drew  Hrenda  Gilholme  to  her  arms. 

"Alice  has  come  with  me!"  said  the 

girl. 

"Yes,  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Wylie,  and 
she  proceeded  to  greet  the  taller  sister 
with   a   kiss  also,   but  of   somewhat  less 

warmth. 

Then  the  three  ladies  passed  into  the 
drawing-room  together.  There  was  a 
momentary  pause,  during  which  Mrs. 
Huston  mechanically  loosened  the  strings 
of  her  smart  little  bonnet  and  looked 
round  the  room  appreciatively. 

"  How    perfectly     delicious,"    she    ex- 


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Alice  Returns 


83 


claimed,  "  it  is  to  see  a  comfortable  Eng- 
lish drawing-room  again !  I  almost  kissed 
the  maid  who  opened  the  door ;  she  was 
such  a  pleasant  contrast  to  sneaking  Cing- 
alese servants." 

Mrs.  Wylie  smiled  sympathetically,  but 
became  grave  again  instantaneously.  Her 
eyes  rested  for  a  second  on  Brenda's  face. 
"  Alice,"  explained  Brenda,  coming  for- 
ward to  the  fireplace  and  raising  one 
neatly  shod  foot  to  the  fender,  "does  not 
give  a  very  glowing  account  of  Ceylon." 

"Nor,"  added  Mrs.  Huston  with  light 
pathos,  "of  the  blessed  state  of  matri- 
mony." 

Mrs.  Wylie  drew  forward  a  chair. 
"Sit  down,"  she  said  hospitably,  "and 
warm  yourselves.     We  will  have  some  tea 
before  you  take  your  things  off." 

"  And  now,  Alice,"  she  resumed,  after 
seating  herself  in  the  softly  lined  cane 
chair  near  the  literary  table,  "tell  me  all 
.  .  .  you  wish  to  tell  me." 

"  Oh,"  replied  the  beautiful  woman,  re- 
moving her  gloves  daintily,  "  there  is  not 


84 


Suspense 


much  to  tell.  Moreover,  the  story  has 
not  the  merit  even  of  novelty.  The  raw 
material  is  lamentably  commonplace,  and 
I  am  afraid  I  cannot  make  a  very  inter- 
esting thing  of  it.  Wretched  climate, 
horribly  dull  station,  thirsty  husband. 
Voilatoutr' 

"To  which,  however,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Wylie  with  a  peculiar  intonation,  "  might 
perhaps  be  added  military  society  and 
Indian  habits." 

The  younger  woman  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  laughed. 

"  Oh  no  !  "  she  exclaimed  irresponsibly. 
"But  all  that  is  a  question  of  the  past, 
and  the  present  is  important  enough  to 
require  some  attention." 

She  extended  her  feet  to  the  warmth 
of   the  fire,  and  contemplated  her  small 
boots  with  some  satisfaction. 
"Yes  ...  ?" 

"I  have  bolted,"  she  said,  replying  to 
the  inferred  query,  "  and  he  is  in  all  prob- 
ability after  me." 

Mrs.   Wylie    turned    aside   the   screen 


\ 


ory  has 
rhe  raw 
ace,  and 
ry  inter- 
climate, 
lusband. 

:ed  Mrs. 
,  "  might 
ety   and 

ged    her 

ponsibly. 
the  past, 
lough  to 

:  warmth 
ler  small 


plying  to 
I  all  prob- 

le   screen 


Alice  Returns 


8s 


which  she  was  holding  between  her  face 
and  the  fire.  Her  eyes  rested  for  a  mo- 
ment on  the  speaker's  face,  then  she 
transferred  her  attention  to  Brenda,  who 
stood  near  the  mantelpiece  with  her  two 
gloved  hands  icsting  on  the  marble.  The 
girl  was  gazing  down  between  her  ex- 
tended arms  into  the  fire. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  the 
widow  with  conviction. 

"  There  was  no  alternative.  I  could 
not  stand  it  any  longer." 

"  How  did  you  manage  it  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Wylie  quietly,  almost  too  quietly. 

"  Oh,  I  got  rid  of  some  jewellery,  and 
there  was  a  Captain  Markynter  who  was 
kind  enough   to  get   my  ticket  and  see 

me  off!" 

A  peculiar  silence  followed  this  cool 
remark.  Mrs.  Wylie  sat  quite  still,  hold- 
ing the  palm  screen  before  her  face. 
Brenda  stood  motionless  as  a  statue.  Mrs. 
Huston  curved  her  white  wrist,  and  looked 
compassionately  at  a  small  red  mark  made 
by  the  button  of  her  glove.     At  length 


86 


Suspense 


the  uneasy  pause  was  broken.  Without 
moving,  Brenda  spoke  in  a  cool,  clear 
voice,  almost  monotonous. 

"  Alice,"  she  explained,  "  is  a  great  ad- 
vocate for  masculine  assistance.  She  con- 
siders us  totally  incapable  of  managing 
our  own  affairs,  and  powerless  to  act  for 
ourselves." 

Mrs.  Huston  laughed  somewhat  forced- 
ly, and  drew  in  her  feet. 

"  !t  is  like  this,"  she  explained.  "  If 
my  husband  catches  me  .  think  I  -hall 
probably  kill  myself ! " 

"  Ah !  "  said  Mrs.  Wylie  mechanically. 

At  that  moment  she  was  not  thinking 
whether  her  monosyllabic  remark  was 
cruelly  sarcastic  or  simply  silly.  Her 
whole  mind  was  devoted  to  the  study  of 
Brenda's  face,  upon   which   the   firelight 

glowed. 

"  I  think,"  continued  Mrs.  Huston, 
"that  we  may  count  on  a  week's  start. 
My  affectionate  husband  cannot  be  here 
before  then." 

To  this  neither  lady  made  reply.     The 


Alice  Returns 


87 


Without 
Dol,  clear 

great  ad- 
She  con- 
managing 
:o  act  for 

at  forced- 

ned.  "  If 
k  I  ohall 

:hanically. 
:  thinking 
nark  was 
lly.  Her 
;  study  of 
i   firelight 

Huston, 
sk's  start. 
)t  be  here 

ply.     The 


servant  came  in,  and  in  a  few   moments 
tea  was  served. 

"  Have  you,"  asked  the  widow  at  length, 
as  she  stirred  her  tea  placidly,  "  thought  of 
what  you  are  doing  ? " 

"  Oh  yes  !  "  was  the  laughing  rejoinder, 
in  which  however,  there  was  no  mirth. 
"Oh  yes!  I  have  thought,  and  thought, 
and  thought,  until  the  subject  was 
thrashed  out  dry.  There  was  nothing 
else  to  do  but  think,  and  read  yellow- 
backed  novels,  all  the  voyage  home." 

"Then,"  murmured  the  widow,  with 
gentle  interrogation,  "  this  Captain  Par- 
minter  did  not  come  home  with  you?" 

Mrs.  Huston  changed  colour,  and  her 
lips  moved  slightly.  She  glanced  towards 
Mrs.  Wylie  beneath  her  dark  lashes,  and 
answered : 

"  No !     And  his  name  is  Markynter." 

The  palm-leaf  did  not  move.  Presently, 
however,  Mrs.  Wylie  laid  it  aside,  and 
asked  for  some  more  tea. 

"  Well,"  she  said  cheerily,  "  I  suppose 
we  must  make   the  best  of  a  very   bad 


88 


Suspense 


bargain.  What  do  you  propose  to  do 
next?" 

In  the  most  natural  and  confiding 
way  imaginable,  Mrs.  Huston  looked  up 
towards  her  sister,  who  was  still  standing. 
There  was  an  almost  imperceptible  shrug 
of  her  shoulders. 

"  Brenda,"  she  answered,  "  says  that  I 
must  run  away  and  hide  in  some  small 
village,  which  is  not  exactly  a  cheerful 
prospect." 

"  It  would  hardly  do,"  said  Brenda,  as 
if  in  defence  of  her  own  theory,  "  to  go 
down  to  Brighton  and  stay  at  the  Bed- 
ford Hotel  for  instance." 

"  If,"  added  Mrs.  Wylie  in  the  same 
tone,  "  you  really  want  to  avoid  your  hus- 
band, you  must  certainly  hide;  but  I  do 
not  see  what  you  can  gain  by  such  a  pro- 
ceeding. It  can  never  be  permanent,  and 
you  will  soon  get  tired  of  chasing  each 
other  round  England." 

"  Perhaps  he  will  get  tired  of  it  first." 

"  If  he  docs,  what  will  your  position  be? 
Somewhat  ambiguous,  I  imagine." 


Alice  Returns 


89 


Dse   to  do 

confiding 
looked  up 

standing. 
:ible  shrug 

lys  that  I 
Dme  small 
a  cheerful 

Brenda,  as 
•y,  "to  go 
t  the  Bed- 

the  same 
your  hus- 
;  but  I  do 
luch  a  pro- 
lanent,  and 
ising  each 

[  it  first." 
Dsition  be? 
e." 


"  It  cannot  be  worse  than  it  is  at 
present." 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  the  widow  calmly. 
"  It  can !  " 

She  set  her  empty  cup  on  the  tray, 
and  sat  with  her  two  hands  clasped 
together  on  her  lap.  She  had  not  come 
through  fifty  years  of  life,  this  placid 
lady,  without  learning  something  of  the 
world's  ways,  and  she  recognised  instantly 
what  Alice  Huston's  position  was.  It 
was  the  old  story  which  is  told  every 
day  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  more  espe- 
cially, perhaps,  in  India  —  the  wearisome 
tale  of  a  mistaken  marriage  between  a  man 
of  small  intellect  and  a  woman  of  less. 

Captain  Huston's  military  duties  were 
not  such  as  occupied  more  than  a  few 
hours  of  the  week,  and  during  the  rest 
of  his  existence  he  was  actively  idle.  His 
mind  was  fallow ;  he  was  totally  with- 
out resource,  without  occupation,  without 
interest. 

If  Alice  Gilholme  had  searched  through 
the  entire   army-list,   she  could   scarcely 


90 


Suspense 


have  found  a  man  less  suitable  to  be  her 
husband  than  Captain  Huston.  Petty, 
short-sighted  jealousy  on  his  part,  vapid 
coquetry  on  hers,  soon  led  to  the  in- 
evitable end,  and  the  result  was  thrown 
upon  the  hands  of  Brenda  and  Mrs. 
Wylie  with  easy  nonchalance  by  the 
spoilt  child  of  society. 

Before  the  three  ladies  had  spoken 
further  upon  the  subject  chiefly  occupy- 
ing their  thoughts,  the  drawing-room 
door  was  thrown  open,  and  with  studied 
grace  William  Hicks  crossed  the  threshold. 

The  hat  that  he  carried  daintily  in 
his  left  hand  was  not  quite  the  same  in 
contour  as  those  worn  by  his  contempo- 
raries. To  ensure  this  peculiarity,  the 
artist  was  forced  to  send  to  Paris  for  his 
head-g'^ar,  where  he  paid  a  higher  price 
and  received  an  inferior  article.  But  the 
distinction  conferred  by  a  unique  hat 
is  practically  immeasurable  and  without 
price.  Mr.  Hicks'  gloves  were  also  out 
of  the  common;  likewise  his  strangely- 
cut  coat. 


Alice  Returns 


91 


to  be  her 
3n.  Petty, 
part,  vapid 
to  the  in- 
i^as  thrown 

and  Mrs. 
:e    by    the 

ad  spoken 
fly  occupy- 
iwing-room 
ith  studied 
e  threshold, 
daintily  in 
he  same  in 
contempo- 
liarity,  the 
aris  for  his 
igher  price 
^.  But  the 
unique  hat 
nd  without 
re  also  out 
;  strangely- 


Thc  totit  ensemble  was  undoubtedly 
pleasing.  It  must  have  been  so,  because 
he  was  obviously  satisfied,  and  the 
artistic  eye  is  the  acknowledged  arbi- 
trator  in  matters  of  outward  adornment, 
whether  it  be  of  mantelshelves  or  human 
forms  divine. 

The  three  ladies  turned  to  greet  him 
with  that  ready  feminine  smile  which  is 
ever  there  to  lubricate  matters  when  the 
social  wheel  may  squeak  or  grate. 

"Oh,  bother!"  whispered  Brenda  to 
herself,  as  she  held  out  her  hand. 

''  What .?  "  exclaimed  Hicks,  with  lan- 
guid surprise  and  visibly  deep  pleasure. 
"  Mrs.  Huston !  I  am  delighted.  When  I 
left  my  studio  and  plunged  into  all  this 
mist  and  gloom  this  afternoon,  I  never 
thought  that  both  would  be  dispelled 
so  suddenly." 

"Is  it  dispelled .?"  asked  Mrs.  Huston, 
glancing  playfully  towards  the  window. 

"  In  here  it  is.  But  then,"  he  added,  as 
he  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Wylie,  "  there 
is  never  any  mist  or  gloom  in  this  room." 


,  1 


92 


Suspense 


With  a  pleasant  laugh,  as  if  deprecat- 
ing his  own  folly,  he  turned  to  greet 
Hrenda,  who  had  stood  near  the  mantel- 
piece with  her  gloved  hand  extended. 
Then  his  manner  changed.  Moreover, 
it  was  a  distinctly  advantageous  altera- 
tion. One  would  have  imagined,  from 
the  expression  of  his  handsome  but 
weak  face,  that  if  there  was  anybody  on 
earth  whom  he  respected  and  admired, 
almost  as  much  as  he  respected  and 
admired  William  Hicks,  that  person  was 
Brcnda. 

For  her  he  had  no  neatly-turned 
pleasantry  —  no  easy,  infectious  laugh. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  coming 
home,  Mrs.  Huston,"  he  said,  turning 
again  to  that  lady.  Then  his  social 
training  enabled  him  to  detect  unerringly 
that  he  might  be  on  a  dangerous  trail, 
and  with  ready  skill  he  turned  aside. 
"  This  is  not  the  best  time  of  year,"  he 
continued,  "  to  return  to  your  native 
shores.  Personally  I  am  rather  disgusted 
with  the  shore  in  question,  but  we   must 


Alice  Returns 


93 


if  deprecat- 
ed   to   greet 

the  mantcl- 
d  extended. 
Moreover, 
geous  altera- 
igined,  from 
ndsome     but 

anybody  on 
md  admired, 
spectcd  and 
t  person  was 

neatly-turned 
ious  laugh, 
vere  coming 
said,  turning 
:n  his  social 
ct  unerringly 
ngerous  trail, 
;urned  aside, 
of  year,"  he 
your  native 
her  disgusted 
but  we  must 


surely  hope  for  some  more  sunshine 
before  we  finally  bid  farewell  to  the  orb 
of  day  for  the  winter.  We  poor  artists 
are  the  chief  sufferers,  I  am  sure." 

"At  all  events,"  put  in  Mrs.  Wylie 
easily,  "you  take  it  upon  yourselves  to 
grumble  most.  There  is  always  some- 
thing to  displease  you — the  want  of 
daylight,  the  scarcity  of  buyers,  or  the 
hopeless  stupidity  of  the  hanging- 
committee." 

"  I  think  I  confine  my  observations  to 
the  weather,"  murmured  Hicks,  gazing 
sadly  into  the  fire,  towards  which  bourne 
Brenda's  glance  was  also  apparently  di- 
rected, for  she  presently  pressed  the 
glowing  coals  down  with  the  sole  of  her 
boot,  and  quite  lost  the  studied  poesy 
of  the  artist's  expression.  "  I  am,  I 
think,"  he  continued  humbly,  "  indepen- 
dent of  buyers  and  hanging-committees. 
I  do  not  exhibit  at  Burlington  House, 
and  you  know  I  never  sell." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Huston,  with  slight 
interest,   for    the    elder   lady  had   turned 


'I 
il" 


OA  Suspense 

away  and  was  busy  with  her  second  cup 
of  tea,  which  was  ahuost  cold. 

"No,"  answered  Hicks,  with  the  eager- 
ness that  comes  to  egotistical  talkers 
when  they  are  sure  of  a  new  listener. 
"  No.  I  don't  care  to  enter  into  compe- 
tition with  men  who  depend  more  upon 
conventional  training  than  natural  talent. 
The  Royal  Academy  is  only  a  human 
institution,  and,  perhaps,  it  is  only  nat- 
ural that  their  own  students  should  be 
favoured  before  all  others.  I  am  not  an 
Academy  student,  you  know ! " 

Mrs.  Huston  contented  herself  with 
no  more  compromising  affirmative  than 
a  gracious  inclination  of  the  head.  It  is 
just  possible  that,  fresh  from  Ceylon, 
and  consequently  deplorably  ignorant  of 
artistic  affairs  as  she  was,  the  knowledge 
that  William  Hicks  was  not  an  Academy 
student  had  been  denied  her.  This  most 
lamentable  fact,  however,  if  it  existed, 
she  concealed  with  all  the  cleverness  of 
her  sex,  and  Hicks  came  to  the  con- 
clusion,  later    on,   that    she    must    have 


Alice  Returns 


95 


r  second  cup 
old. 

th  the  eager- 
stical  talkers 
new  listener, 
r  into  compc- 
d  more  upon 
natural  talent, 
nly  a  human 
t  is  only  nat- 
its   should   be 

I  am  not  an 
iw!" 

herself  with 
firmative  than 
le  head.  It  is 
from  Ceylon, 
ily  ignorant  of 
the  knowledge 
it  an  Academy 
ir.  This  most 
if  it  existed, 
e  cleverness  of 
J  to  the  con- 
le    must    have 


known.     He  could   not  conceive   it   pos- 
sible   that   a   woman    moving    in   intelli- 
gent circles,  although  in  the  outer  rims 
thereof,  and  far  from  the  living  centre  of 
Kensington,   could   be  unaware   of   such 
-  an  important   item   in   his  own  personal 
history ;  this  being  no  mean  part  of  the 
artistic  history  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
Enveloped  as  he  was,  however,  in  con- 
ceit, he  had   the  good  taste   to  perceive 
that  his  bewildering  presence  was  on  this 
particular  occasion  liable  to  be  considered 
bliss  of  an  alloyed  description,  and  in  a 
short  time  he  took  his  leave. 

As  he  was  moving  round  and  saying 
good-bye,  Mrs.  Huston  returned  to  the 
artistic  question,  from  which  they  had 
never  strayed  very  far.  Indeed,  art  was 
somewhat  apt  to  become  a  nauseating 
subject  of  conversation  wherever  William 
Hicks  was  allowed  to  influence  matters 
to  any  extent. 

"You  have  never  sent  pictures  to  the 
Academy,  then  ? "  she  asked  innocently.^ 
"Oh     no!"    he    answered    with    mild 


96 


Suspense 


horror.     "Good-bye,  so  glad   to  see  you 
home  again." 

And  then  he  vanished. 
Mrs.    Wylie     watched    his     retreating 
figure  with   a  pleasant  and   sociable   ex- 
pression on  her  intelligent  face. 

"  That,"  she  was  reflecting,  "  is  a  lie ! " 
She  happened  to  know  that  Hicks  had 
been  refused  a  place  on  the  walls  of 
Burlington  House. 

"  Whew! "  reflected  Hicks  on  the  stairs; 
"ran  right  into  it.  She's  left  him;  I 
could  see  that.  Seems  to  me  she's  on 
the  verge  of  a  catastrophe  —  divorce  or 
separation,  or  something  like  that." 

In  the  drawing-room  Mrs.  Wylie  was 
saying  reflectively  to  either  or  both  of 
her  companions : 

"This  is  the  beginning  of  it.  That 
man  will  tell  everyone  he  meets  before 
going  to  bed  to-night  that  you  are  home. 
He  did  not  ask  where  your  husband  was, 
which  shows  that  he  wanted  to  know; 
consequently  he  will  wonder  over  it,  and 
will  take  care  to  tell  everyone  what  he 
is  wondering  about." 


I 


To  the  Front 


97 


o  see  you 


retreating 
jciable  ex- 
e. 

'  IS  a  lie ! 
Hicks  had 
;    walls    of 

1  the  stairs; 
eft  him;  I 
I  she's  on 
■  divorce  or 
that." 

Wylie  was 
or  both   of 

:  it.  That 
leets  before 
1  are  home, 
usband  was, 
1  to  know; 
over  it,  and 
le  what   he 


CHAPTER  VHI 

TO   THE    FRONT 

A  WEEK  later  Brenda  was  sitting  in 
the  same  apartment  again.  But 
this  time  she  was  alone.  From  pure 
kindness  of  heart  Mrs.  Wylie  had  man- 
aged to  allow  her  an  afternoon's  leisure, 
and  Brenda  was  spending  this  very  hap- 
pily amidst  her  books  and  magazines, 
when  the  maid  opened  the  drawing-room 
door,  with  the  mumbled  announcement 
of  a  name  to  whose  possessor  no  door  of 
Mrs.  Wylie's  was  ever  shut.  She  failed 
to  hear  the  name,  and  half  turned  her 
head  without  much  welcome  in  her  eyes. 

She  was  preparing  to  rise  politely  from 
her  seat  when  a  dark  form  passed  between 
the  window  and  herself.  There,  upon  the 
hearthrug,  within  touch  of  her  black  skirt, 
stood  Trist!  with  a  brown  face,  and  his 
bland,  high  forehead  divided  into  two  por- 

7 


'1^ 


98 


Suspense 


tions  of  white  and  of  mahogany,  where 
the  fez  had  rested,  keeping  off  the  burn- 
ing sun,  but  casting  no  shadow. 

Brenda  gave  a  little  gasp,  and  the  eyes 
that  met  his  were,  for  a  second,  con- 
tracted with  some  quick  emotion,  which 
he  thought  was  fear. 

"Theol"  she  exclaimed.  Then  she 
stopped  short,  checking  herself  suddenly, 
and  as  she  rose  he  saw  the  frightened 
look  in  her  eyes  again. 

They  shook  hands,  and  for  a  brief 
moment  neither  seemed  able  to  frame  a 
syllable.  Brenda's  lips  were  dry,  and  her 
throat  was  parched  —  all  in  a  second. 

He  looked  round  the  room  as  if  seek- 
ing someone,  or  the  indication  of  a  pres- 
ence, such  as  a  work-basket,  a  well-known 
book,  or  some  similar  token.  Brenda 
concluded  that  he  was  wondering  where 
Mrs.  Wylie  might  be,  and  suddenly  she 
found  power  to  speak  in  a  steady,  even 

voice. 

"Mrs.  Wylie   is    out!"  she  said.      "I 
expect  her  in  by  tea-time." 


i|ii 


c 


To  the  Front 


99 


gany,  where 

iff  the  burn- 

w. 

ind  the  eyes 

second,  con- 

otion,  which 

Then  she 
elf  suddenly, 
le  frightened 

for  a  brief 
e  to  frame  a 
dry,  and  her 
L  second, 
m  as  if  seek- 
lon  of  a  pres- 
a  well-known 
cen.  Brenda 
idering  where 
suddenly  she 
I  steady,  even 

ihe  said.      "  I 


He  nodded  his  head  —  indicated  the 
chair  which  she  had  just  left  —  and, 
when  she  was  seated,  knelt  down  on  the 
hearthrug,  holding  his  two  hands  to  the 
fire. 

"  Where  is  Alice  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  pecu- 
liar monotone. 

"  She  is  out  with  Mrs.  Wylie  —  Then 
.  .  .  you  know  ? " 

"Yes,  Brenda,  I  know!"  he  answered 
gravely. 

The  girl  sat  forward  in  her  low  chair, 
with  her  two  arms  resting  upon  her  knees, 
her  slim,  white  hands  interlocked.  For  a 
time  she  was  off  her  guard,  forgetting  the 
outward  composure  taught  in  the  school 
of  which  she  was  so  apt  a  pupil.  She 
actually  allowed  herself  to  breathe  hur- 
riedly, to  lean  forward,  and  drink  in  with 
her  eager  eyes  the  man's  every  feature 
and  every  movement.  He  was  not  look- 
ing towards  her,  but  of  her  fixed  gaze  he 
was  well  aware.  The  sound  of  her  quick 
respiration  was  close  to  his  ear.  With  all 
his  iron  composure,  despite  his  cruel  hold 


lOO 


Suspense 


over  himself,  he  vavcred  for  a  moment, 
and  the  hands  held  out  to  the  glow  of 
the  fire  shook  perceptibly.  But  his  meek 
eyes  never  lost  their  settled  expression  of 
speculative  contemplation.  The  flame 
leapt  up,  and  fell  again  with  a  little  bub- 
bling sound,  glowing  ruddily  upon  the 
two  faces.  He  remained  quite  motion- 
less, quite  cold. 

Presently  Brenda  leant  back  in  the 
chair.  There  was  a  screen  on  the  table 
near  her  —  Mrs.  Wylie's  palm-leaf — and 
she  extended  her  hand  to  take  it,  holding 
it  subsequently  between  her  face  and  the 
fire,  so  that  if  Trist  had  turned  his  head 
he  could  not  have  seen  anything  but  her 
hand  and  wrist,  and  the  screen  glowing 
rosily.  He  did  not  turn,  however,  when 
he  spoke. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  how  I  came 
to  know." 

Before  continuing,  he  rubbed  his  hands 
slowly  together.  Then  he  rose  from  his 
knees  and  remained  standing  near  the 
fire  close  to  her,  but  without  looking  in 


■  a  moment, 
the  glow  of 
>ut  his  meek 
sxpression  of 
The  flame 
a  little  bub- 
y  upon  the 
lite   motion- 

3ack  in  the 
on  the  table 
n-leaf —  and 
e  it,  holding 
face  and  the 
led  his  head 
hing  but  her 
een  glowing 
wever,  when 

'  how  I  came 

;d  his  hands 
ose  from  his 
ig  near  the 
t  looking  in 


V 


To  the  Front 


lOl 


her  direction.     He  seemed  to  be  choosing 
his  words. 

"  I  came  home,"  he  said  at  length, 
"from  Gibraltar  in  an  Indian  steamer,  a 
small  boat  with  half  a  dozen  passengers. 
There  was  no  doctor  on  board.  One 
evening  I  was  asked  to  go  forward  and 
look  at  a  second-class  passenger  who 
was  suffering  from  .  .  .  from  delirium 
tremens." 

He  stopped  in  an  apologetic  way,  as  if 
begging  her  indulgence  for  the  use  of 
those  two  words  in  her  presence. 

"Yes  .  .  ."  she  murmured  encourag- 
ingly. 

"  It  was  Huston." 

As  he  spoke  he  turned  slightly,  and 
glanced  down  at  her.  She  had  entirely 
regained  her  gentle  composure  now,  and 
the  colour  had  returned  to  her  face.  Her 
attention  was  given  to  his  words  with  a 
certain  suppressed  anxiety,  but  no  sur- 
prise whatever. 

"  Did,"  she  asked  at  length  —  "  did  he 
recognise  you  ?  " 


:  •iWfc>*<M*^i<1MlW<tJj>*IMUi  —  ■  w»<M*«re<i 


I02 


Suspense 


No." 


"  And  he  never  knew,  anci  docs  not 
know  now,  that  you  were  on  board  ?  " 

It  would  seem  that  he  divined  her 
thoughts,  detecting  the  hidden  impor- 
tance of  her  question. 

"  No,"  he  answered  meaningly,  as  he 
turned  and  looked  down  at  her — "no; 
but  he  has  not  forgotten  my  existence." 

She  raised  her  eyes  quickly,  but  their 
glance  stopped  short  suddenly  at  the 
elevation  of  his  lips.  It  was  only  by  an 
effort  that  she  avoided  meeting  his  gaze. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said  with  a  short 
laugh,  in  an  explanatory  way,  "  much 
about  .  .  .  about  it.  Is  it  like  ordinary 
delirium,  where  people  talk  in  a  broken 
manner  without  realizing  what  they  are 

saying  r 

"  Yes ;  it  is  rather  like  that." 

She  examined  the  texture  of  the  screen 
with  some  attention. 

"  Do  you  mind  telling  me,  Theo,"  she 
asked  at  length  evenly,  "whether  he  men- 
tioned your  name  ? " 


1~1 


To  the  Front 


103 


inci   docs  not 
board  ? " 
divined  her 
idden    impor- 

ningly,  as  he 
t   her— "no; 
existence." 
kly,  but  their 
denly    at   the 
as  only  by  an 
ing  his  gaze. 
d  with  a  short 
way,   "  much 
like  ordinary 
c  in  a  broken 
what  they  are 

at." 

2  of  the  screen 

ne,  Theo,"  she 
lether  he  men- 


Trist  reflected  for  a  moment.  He  moved 
restlessly  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  then 
spoke  in  a  voice  which  betrayed  no  emotion 
beyond  regret  and  a  hesitating  sympathy. 

"  He  said  that  Alice  had  run  away  to 
join  her  old  lover  —  meaning  me."  , 

"  Arc  you  sure  he  meant  .  .  .  you  ? " 

"  He  mentioned  my  name ;  there  could 
be  no  doubt  about  it." 

Brenda  rose  suddenly  from  her  seat  and 
crossed  the  room  towards  the  window. 
There  she  stood  with  her  back  towards 
him,  a  dark  silhouette  against  the  dying 
light,  looking  into  the  street. 

He  moved  slightly,  but  did  not  attempt 
to  follow  her. 

"  It  is  rather  strange,"  she  said  at  length, 
"  that  the  first  name  she  mentioned  on 
landing  at  Plymouth  should  be  yours." 

A  look  of  blank  surprise  flashed  across 
his  face,  and  then  he  reflected  gravely  for 
some  moments. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  he  said  slowly, 
"because  it  would  seem  that  my  name 
has  been  bandied  between  them,  and   if 


1 04  Suspense 

that  is  the   case   my  hands  arc   tied.     I 
cannot  help  Alice  as  I  should  have  liked 

to  do." 

"  I  told  Alice  some  time  ago  that  it 
would  be  much  better  for  us  to  manage 
this  .  .  .  this  miserable  affair  without 
your  help." 

"  You  are  equal  to  it,"  he  said  deliber- 
ately. 

She  laughed  with  a  faint  gleam  of  her 

habitual  brightness. 

"Thank  you.  That  is  gratifying,  but 
it  is  hardly  the  question." 

"  My  help,"  he  continued,  "  need  not  be 
obvious  to  every  casual  observer.  But  I 
am  not  going  to  leave  you  to  fight  this 
out  alone,  Brenda.  I  was  forced  to  leave 
you  once,  and  I  am  not  going  to  do  it 
again.     What   does    Mrs.   Wylie  say   to 

it  all  ?  " 

"  Nothing  as  yet.     She   is  waitmg  on 

events." 

"  Ah,  then,  she  is  in  reserve  as  usual. 
When  the  time  comes,  we  may  rely  upon 
her  help.     But  until  then  .  .  ." 


arc  tied.  I 
Id  have  liked 

ago  that  it 
IS  to  manage 
.ffair   without 


I  said  delibcr- 


gleam  of  her 

gratifying,  but 

"  need  not  be 
;erver.  But  I 
to  fight  this 
arced  to  leave 
oing  to  do  it 
Wylie   say   to 

is  waiting   on 

lerve  as  usual, 
may  rely  upon 


To  the  Front 


105 


"  Thco,"  interrupted  Hrcnda  in  an  anx- 
ious voice,  "  the  time  has  come !  " 

She  started  back  from  tiie  window,  her 
face  as  white  as  her  throat. 

"  He  is  there  I"  she  whispered  pointing 
towards  the  window  —  "in  the  street. 
Coming  into  the  house  !  " 

"  Come,"  he  said  quickly  —  "  come  into 
another  room.     I  will  see  him  here." 

As  he  spoke  he  gently  urged  her 
towards  the  door,  but  she  resisted. 

"  No,"  she  said,  *'  I  will  see  him.  It  is 
better.  Alice  may  come  in  at  any  mo- 
ment, and  before  then  I  must  know  how 
matters  stand  between  them." 

Trist  hesitated,  and  at  that  moment 
the  bell  rang.  They  stood  side  by  side 
looking  at  the  closed  door,  listening  pain- 
fully. 

"  Perhaps,"  whispered  Trist,  "  the  maid 
will  say  that  Mrs.  Wylie  is  out." 

They  could  hear  the  light  footstep  of 
the  servant,  then  the  click  of  the  latch. 

A  murmur  of  words  followed,  ending 
in  the  raised  tone  of  a  male  voice  and  a 


jKllnHi 


J  06  Suspense 

short  sharp  exclamation  of  fear  from  the 

maid. 

Instinctively  Trist  sprang  towards  the 

door. 

There  was  a  sound  of  heavy  footsteps 
in  the  passage.  Trist's  fingers  were  on 
the  handle.     He  glanced  towards  Brenda 

appcalingly. 

"  Leave  it ! "  she  exclaimed.     "  Let  him 

come  in." 

Before  the  words  were  out  of  her  lips 
the  door  was  thrown  open,  concealing 
Trist. 


■ »-«»— "^yc*";?" 


Under  Fire 


107 


ar  from  the 

towards  the 

.vy  footsteps 
crs  were  on 
rards  IJrcnda 

"  Let  him 

t  of  her  lips 
,    concealing 


CIIAPTKR    IX 


undi:r  riRE 


A  TALL,  well-built  man  entered  the 
roi^m  hurriedly  and  stopped  short, 
facing  Hrenda,  who  met  his  gaze  with  self- 
possession. 

"  Ah  I  "  he  muttered  in  a  thick  voice, 
and  his  unsteady  hand  went  to  his  long, 
fair  moustache. 

It  was  a  terribly  unhealthy  face  upon 
which  Brenda's  eyes  rested  inquiringly. 
The  skin  was  cracked  in  places,  and  the 
cheeks  were  almost  blue.  The  eyelids 
were  red  and  the  eyes  bloodshot,  while 
there  was  a  general  suggestion  of  puflfi- 
ness  and  discomfort  in  the  swollen  feat- 
ures. The  man  was  distinctly  repulsive, 
and  yet,  with  a  small  amount  of  tolerance, 
he  was  a  figure  to  demand  pity.  Despite 
his  dissipated  air,  there  was  that  indefinite 


io8 


Suspense 


sense  of  refinement  which  belongs  to  birth 
and  breeding,  and  which  never  leaves  a 
man  who  has  once  moved  among  gentle- 
men. There  was  even  a  faint  suggestion 
of  military  vanity  in  his  dress  and  car- 
riage, though  his  figure  was  by  no  means 
so  smart  as  it  must  have  been  in  bygone 

days. 

The  room  was  rather  dark,  and  he 
glanced  round,  failing  to  see  Theo  Trist, 
who  was  leaning  against  the  wall  behind 

him. 

"  Ah  ! "  he  repeated ;  "  Brenda.  I  sup- 
pose you  are  in  it,  too !  " 

She  made  no  reply. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  continued  thickly,  "  where 
my  wife  is  to  be  found." 

Trist  noticed  that  she  never  took  her 
eyes  off  Huston's  face,  never  glanred  past 
the  sleek,  closely-cropped  head  towards 
himself.  In  some  subtle  way  her  wish 
was  conveyed  to  him -the  wish  that  he 
should  remain  there  and  continue,  if  pos- 
sible ♦•o  be  unnoticed  by  Huston.  This 
he  dia,  .eaning  against  the  wall,  his  meek 


Under  Fire 


109 


I  belongs  to  birth 
1  never  leaves  a 
;d  among  gentle- 
L  faint  suggestion 
s  dress  and  car- 
was  by  no  means 
e  been  in  bygone 

sr  dark,  and  he 
o  see  Theo  Trist, 
t  the  wall  behind 

"  Brenda.     I  sup- 


ed  thickly, "  where 

be  never  took  her 
never  glanred  past 
pad  head  towards 
,tle  way  her  wish 
-  the  wish  that  he 
d  continue,  if  pos- 
by  Huston.  This 
the  wall,  his  meek 


eyes  riveted  on  the  girl's  face  with  a  calm, 
expectant  attention.  I'>om  his  presence 
Brenda  gathered  that  strength  and  self- 
reliance  which  God  intends  women  to 
gather  from  the  companionship  of  men. 

"No,  Alfred,"  she  answered,  using  his 
Christian  name  with  a  diplomacy  which 
made  him  waver  for  a  moment  and  sway 
backwards  upon  his  rigid  legs;  "I  must 
not  tell  you  that  yet." 

"  What  right  have  you  to  withhold  it  ?  " 
"  She  is  my  sister.     I  must  do  the  best 
I  can  for  her." 

He  laughed  in  an  unpleasant  way. 
"  By  throwing  her  into  the  path  of  the 
man  she  has  always  —  " 

"  Stop !  "  commanded  Brenda. 
"Why?    Why  should  I  stop?    I  sup- 
pose Trist  is  in  England.     That  is  why 
she  came  home,  no  doubt." 

"She  has  never  spoken  to  Theodore 
Trist  since  she  married  you.  Beside., 
that  is  not  the  question.  Tell  me  why 
you  want  to  find  Alice.  What  do  you 
propose  to  do  ?  " 


no  Suspense 

"That  is  my  affair!"  he  muttered 
roughly.  "  You  have  no  business  to  stand 
between  man  and  wife.  If  you  persist  in 
doing  so,  it  must  be  at  your  own  risk,  and 
I  tell  you  plainly  that  you  run  a  chance  of 
being  roughly  handled." 

As  he  spoke  he  advanced  a  pace  men- 
acingly. Still  she  never  betrayed  Trist's 
presence  by  the  merest  glance  in  his 
direction.  He,  however,  moved  slightly, 
without  making  any  sound. 

Huston  looked  slowly  round  the  room 
with  bloodshot,  horrible  eyes. 

"  Tell  me !  "  he  repeated,  thrusting  for- 
ward his  face  so  that  she  drew  back  — 
not  from  fear,  but  to  avoid  a  faint  aroma 
of  stale  cigar-smoke. 
"  No ! "  she  answered. 
"  Deny  that  Trist  loved  Alice  —  if  you 
dare!"  he  continued,  in  the  same   thick 

voice. 

Still  she  never  called  for  Trist's  assist- 
ance. She  was  very  pale,  and  the  last 
words  seemed  to  strike  her  in  the  face  as 
a  blow. 


Under  Fire 


III 


;  muttered 
ess  to  stand 
>u  persist  in 
,vn  risk,  and 
a  chance  of 

\  pace  mcn- 
ayed  Trist's 
mce  in  his 
red   slightly, 

nd  the  room 

irusting  for- 

rew  back  — 

faint  aroma 


lice  —  if  you 
same   thick 

Frist's  assist- 
and  the  last 
n  the  face  as 


"  I  deny  nothing  ! " 

'■  Tell  me,"  he  shouted  hoarsely,  "  where 
Alice  is!" 

"  No ! " 

He  advanced  suddenly  in  an  access  of 
rage.  It  certainly  looked  as  if  he  were 
about  to  strike  her. 

Without  a  sound  Trist  sprang  forward, 
and  the  same  instant  saw  Huston  fall  to 
the  ground.  He  rolled  over  and  over,  a 
shapeless  ;nass  with  limbs  distended,  and 
lay  motionless,  with  limp  hands  and  open 
mouth.     He  was  insensible. 

Leaving  him,  Trist  turned  to  Brenda, 
who  was  already  holding  him  back  with 
a  physical  force  which  even  at  that 
moment  caused  him  a  vague  surprise. 

"  Theo  ! "  she  cried,  "  what  are  you 
doing  ?  " 

He  looked  into  her  face  sharply,  almost 
fiercely  —  and  she  caught  her  breath  con- 
vulsively at  the  sight  of  his  eyes.  They 
literally  flashed  with  a  dull  blue  gleam, 
which  was  all  the  more  ghastly  in  so 
calm  a  face ;  for   though  he   was   ashen- 


I  12 


Suspense 


gray  in  colour,  his  features  were  unaltered 
by  any  sign  of  passion.  Even  in  his  rage 
this  man  was  incongruous. 

"  Has  he  hurt  you  ? "  he  asked  in  a 
dull,  hollow  voice;  and,  while  he  spoke, 
his  fingers  skilfully  touched  her  shoulder 
in  a  quick,  searching  way  never  learnt  in 
drawing-rooms. 

"  No  —  no  !  "  she  cried  impatiently. 
"  But  you  have  killed  him  !  " 

She  broke  away  from  him  and  knelt 
on  the  floor,  bending  over  the  prostrate 
form  of  the  soldier. 

"  Don't  touch  him,"  said  Trist,  in  an 
unconsciously  commanding  tone.  "He 
is  all  right." 

Obediently,  she  rose  and  stepped  away, 
while  he  lilted  the  limp  form,  and  placed 
it  in  a  chair. 

Slowly  Captain  Huston  opened  his 
eyes.  He  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  sat 
gazing  into  the  fire  with  a  hopeless  and 
miserable  apathy.  Behind  him  the  two 
stood  motionless,  watching.  Presently 
he    began   to    mutter    incoherently,    and 


Under  Fire 


113 


re  unaltered 
in  his  rage 


asked  in  a 
e  he  spoke, 
ler  shoulder 
er  learnt  in 

impatiently. 

I  and  knelt 
he  prostrate 

Prist,  in  an 
tone.     "He 

tepped  away, 
1,  and  placed 

opened  his 
Igh,  and  sat 
hopeless  and 
!iim  the  two 
Presently 
lerently,    and 


Brenda  turned  away,  sickened,  from   tlie 
woeful  hight. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  whispered,  "  if  this  sort 
of  thing  is  to  go  on." 

Trist's  mobile  lips  were  twisted  a  little 
as  if  he  were  in  bodily  pain,  while  he 
glanced  at  her  furtively.  There  was 
nothing  for  hiii  to  say  — no  hope  to 
hold  out. 

They  moved  away  to  the  window  to- 
gether  without   speaking,  both   occupied 
with  thoughts  which  could  not  well  have 
been   pleasant.      Trist's  features   wore   a 
grave,  concentrated  expression,  totally  un- 
like the  philosophical  and  contemplative 
demeanour  which    he   usually  carried   in 
the  face  of   the  world.     There  was  food 
enough  for  mental  stones  to  grind,  and 
he   was    not   a   man   to   take    the    most 
sanguine  view  of  affairs.     His  philosophy 
was   of    that    rare    school   which    is   not 
solely   confined    to   making  the    best   of 
other  folks'  troubles.      His  own   checks 
and  difficulties  were  those  treated  philo- 
sophically; while  the  griefs  of   others  — 

s 


1 1 4  Suspense 

more  especially,  perhaps,  of  Alice  and 
Brenda  —  caused  him  an  exaggerated 
anxiety. 

In  Trist's  place  many  would  have 
uttered  some  trite  consolatory  or  wildly 
hopeful  remark,  which  would  in  no  wise 
have  deceived  a  jDcrson  of  Brenda's  austere 
discrimination.  In  this,  however,  he  fell 
lamentably  short  of  his  duty.  After  a 
thoughtful  pause  he  merely  whispered: 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  done  but  face 

it." 

"  Is  it,"  she  asked  simply,  "  a  case  for 
action,  or  must  we  wait  upon  events  ?  " 

"We  must  act." 

"  Yes  .  .  ."  she  said,  in  little  more  than 
a  whisper,  after  a  pause,  "  I  think  so  too 
—  more  especially  now  .  .  .  that  you  sug- 
gest it." 

He  smiled  slowly. 

"  Perhaps  .  .  .  so ! " 

"I  feel,"  he  said,  with  some  delibera- 
tion. "  that  it  will  be  better  to  keep  them 
apart  in  the  meantime." 

A  strange,  uneasy  look  passed  across 


Alice    and 
:xaggerated 

■ould  have 
r  or  wildly 
in  no  wise 
da's  austere 
ver,  he  fell 
^  After  a 
whispered : 
ne  but  face 

"a  case  for 
ivents  ? " 

2  more  than 
hink  so  too 
bat  you  sug- 


ne  delibera- 
»  keep  them 

assed  across 


Under  Fire 


115 


the  girl's  face.  It  happened  that  there 
was  only  one  man  on  all  the  broad  earth 
whon^  she  trusted  implicitly  —  the  man 
at  her  side  —  and  for  a  second  that  one 
unique  faith  wavered.  With  a  sort  of 
mental  jerk  —  as  of  a  person  who  makes 
a  quick  efiort  to  recover  a  wavering 
balance  —  siic  restored  her  courageous 
trustfulness. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured, "  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"And  I  suppose  ...  I  suppose  we 
must  do  it.     You  and  I,  Brenda?" 

It  was  a  wonderful  thing  how  these  two 
knew  Alice  Huston.  Her  faults  were 
never  mentioned  between  them.  The 
infinite  charity  with  which  each  looked 
upon  these  faults  was  a  mutual  posses- 
sion, unhinted  at,  half  concealed.  Brenda 
knew  quite  well  what  was  written  be- 
tween the  lines  of  his  outspoken  suppo- 
sition, and  replied  to  his  unasked  question 
with  simple  diplomacy. 

"  Yes  —  we  must  do  it." 

Trist  moved  a  little.  He  turned  side- 
ways,   and   glanced   out   of   the   window. 


ii6 


Suspense 


His  attitude  was  that  of  a  man  whose 
hands  were  in  liis  pockets,  but  he  was 
more  than  half  a  soldier  —  a  creature 
morally  and  literally  without  pockets  — 
and  his  hands  hung  at  his  sides. 

The  last  words  might  easily  have 
passed  unheeded,  but  Brenda  felt,  even 
as  she  spoke  them,  that  they  contained 
another  meaning;  moreover,  she  recog- 
nised by  his  sudden  silence  that  Trist 
was  wondering  whether  this  second  sug- 
gestion had  been  intended.  Uneasily  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  his  face.  He  was  look- 
ing down  at  her  gravely,  and  for  some 
seconds  their  glances  met. 

If  an  excuse  to  seek  Mrs.  Wylie's  assist- 
ance  was  hard  to  find,  much  more  so 
was  it  open  to  question  respecting  Trist's 
spontaneous  help.  Why  should  he  offer 
it?  By  what  right  could  she  accept  it? 
And  while  they  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes,  these  two  wondered  over  those  small 
questions.  There  was  a  reason —  the 
best  reason  of  all  — namely,  that  the  offer 
was  as  spontaneous  and    natural  as   the 


Under  Fire 


117 


nan  whose 

ut  he  was 

a    creature 

pockets  — 

asily  have 
felt,  even 
r  contained 
she  recog- 
that  Trist 
iecond  sug- 
Ineasily  she 
e  was  look- 
d  for  some 

ylie's  assist- 
h  more  so 
:ting  Trist's 
uld  he  offer 
e  accept  it? 
each  other's 
•  those  small 
eason  —  the 
hat  the  offer 
tural  as   the 


acceptance  of  it.  But  why  — why  this 
spontaneity?  Perhaps  they  both  knew. 
Perhaps  she  suspected,  and  suspected 
wrongly.  Perhaps  neither  knew  definitely. 
At  last  she  turned  her  head,  and  natu- 
rally her  glance  was  directed  downwards 
into  Piccadilly. 

"  There  they  are,"  she  whispered  hur- 
riedly, "looking  into  the  jeweller's  shop 
opposite.     What  are  wc  to  do,  Theo?  " 

He  almost  forestalled  her  question,  so 
rapid  was  his  answer.  There  was  no 
hesitation,  no  shirking  of  responsibility. 
She  had  simply  asked  him,  and  simply  he 
replied. 

"  Go,"  he  said,  "  and  throw  some  things 
into  a  bag.  I  will  stay  here  and  watch 
him.  When  the  bag  is  ready,  leave  it  hi 
the  passage  and  come  back  here.  I  will 
take  it,  go  down,  and  take  her  straight 
away." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  with  a  shrug 

of  the  shoulders. 

There  was  a  momentary  hesitation  on 


ii8 


Suspense 


the  girl's  part.  She  perceived  a  tcrril.^le 
flaw  in  Trist's  plan,  and  he  divined  her 
thouglits. 

"It  will  be  all  right,"  he  whispered. 
"  No  one  knows  that  I  am  in  England. 
I  will  telegraph  to-night,  and  you  can  join 
her  to-morrow.     You  .  .  .  can  trust  me, 

lirenda." 

There  was  a  faint  smile  of  confidence 
on  her  face  as  she  turned  away  and  hur- 
ried from  the  room. 

Although  her  light  footsteps  were  al- 
most inaudible,  the  ^\\^\\.  frblemcnt  of  her 
dress  seemed  to  rouse  the  stupefied  man 
on  the  low  chair  near  the  fire.  Perhaps 
there  was  in  the  rhythm  of  her  movements 
some  subtle  resemblance  to  the  move- 
ments of  his  wife.  He  raised  his  head 
and  appeared  to  listen  in  an  apathetic 
way,  but  presently  his  chin  dropped  heav- 
ily again  upon  his  breast,  and  the  dull 
eyes  lost  all  light  of  intelligence. 

Trist  turned  away  and  looked  out  of 
the  window.  The  two  ladies  were  still 
lingering  near  the  jeweller's  shop.     Alice 


Under  Fire 


119 


1  a  terrible 
divined  her 

whispered. 
in  England, 
y^ou  can  join 
n  trust  me, 

i  confidence 
ay  and  hur- 

eps  were  al- 
lemcnt  of  her 
upefied  man 
re.  Perhaps 
r  movements 
1  the  move- 
sed  his  head 
an  apathetic 
ropped  heav- 
and  the  dull 
ice. 

Doked  out  of 
es  were  still 
shop.     Alice 


Huston  appcnred  to  be  pointing  out  to 
her  companion  some  specially  attractive 
ornament,  and  Mrs.  Wylie  was  obeying 
with  a  patient  smile. 

The  war-correspondent  smiled  in  a 
peculiar  way,  which  migiit  well  have  ex- 
pressed some  bitterness,  had  he  been  the 
sort  of  man  to  speak  or  think  bitterly  of 
anyone.  The  whole  picture  was  so  ab- 
surdly characteristic,  even  to  the  small 
details  —  such  as  Mrs.  Wylie's  good-na- 
tured patience,  scarce  concealing  her  utter 
lack  of  interest  in  the  jewellery,  and  Alice 
Huston's  eyes  glittering  with  reflex  of  the 
cold  gleam  of  diamonds;  for  there  is  a 
light  that  comes  into  the  eyes  of  some 
women  at  the  mere  mention  of  precious 
stones. 

While  he  was  watching  them  the  ladies 
turned  and  crossed  the  street,  coming 
towards  him.  He  stepped  back  from  the 
window  in  case  one  of  them  should  raise 
her  eyes,  and  at  the  same  moment  Brenda 
entered  the  room. 

She  glanced  towards  Huston  who  was 


r 


1 20 


Suspense 


rousinpj  himself  from  the  torpor  which 
had  followed  his  maltreatment  at  Trist's 
hands,  and  which  was  doubtless  partly 
due  to  the  drink-sodden  condition  of  his 
mind  and  body. 

"  All  I  want,"  whispered  the  war-corre- 
spondent, following  her  glance,  "is  three 
minutes'  start  from  that  man." 

"You  had  better  gol"  she  answered 
anxiously  below  her  breath. 

"Yes;  they  arc  on  the  stairs  .  .  .  but 
.  .  .  tell  me,  Brenda,  promise  me  on  your 
honour,  that  he  did  not  hurt  you." 

"  I  promise  you,"  she  said,  with  a  faint 
smile. 

Then  he  left  her. 


orpor  which 
nt  at  Trist's 
btlcss  partly 
dition  of  his 

he  war-corrc- 
ce,  •'  is  three 

he  answered 

airs  .  .  .  but 
;  me  on  your 
you. 
with  a  faint 


Trist  Acts 


121 


CHAPTER   X 

TKIST    ACTS    ON    HIS    OWN    KKSPONSIDIMTY 

AS  Mrs.  Wylic  made  her  way  slowly 
and  peacefully  up  the  broad  stairs, 
she  suddenly  found  herself  face  to  face 
with  the  man  whom  she  had  last  seen  in  the 
still  Arctic  dawn,  bearing  the  body  of  her 
dead  husband  down  over  the  rocks  towards 
her.  She  gave  a  little  gasp  of  surprise, 
but  nothing  more.  The  next  instant  she 
was  holding  out  her  gloved  hand  to  greet 
him.  But  even  she  —  practised  woman 
of  the  world  as  she  was  —  could  not  meet 
him  with  a  smile.  In  gravity  they  had 
parted,  gravely  they  now  met  again. 

He  had  taken  her  quite  unawares,  with 
that  noiseless  footstep  of  his,  and  the 
colour  left  her  face  for  a  moment. 

''You!''  she  exclaimed;  "I  did  not 
expect  jj/o«." 

From    his    manner    even    Mrs.  Wylie 


igCiBSSHsasa'rt 


122  Suspense 

could  gather  nothing,  and  she  was  no 
mean  reader  of  human  faces.  She 
glanced  at  him  as  they  stood  together 
on  the  stairs  and  asked  herself  a  question: 

"What  part  is  he  playing,  that  of  a 
scoundrel  or  a  fool?" 

She  could  not  conceive  a  third  alterna- 
tive just  then,  because  she  did  not  know 
Alice  Huston  so  well  as  Theo  Trist  knew 

her. 

Before  Mrs.  Huston,  who  was  blush- 
ing very  prettily,  had  time  to  speak, 
Trist  imparted  his  news  with  a  certain 
rapid  bluntness. 

"Your  husband  is  upstairs,"  he  said. 
"  Brenda  will  keep  him  in  the  drawing- 
room  for  a  few  minutes.  I  have  a  bag 
here  with  some  necessaries  for  you. 
Will  you  come  with  me,  or  will  you  go 
upstairs  to  your  husband } " 

"  Will  ...  I  ...  go  with  you  ? "  stam- 
mered the  beautiful  woman  in  a  fright- 
ened whisper.     "  Where  to,  Theo  ? " 

Mrs.  Wylie  leant  against  the  broad 
balustrade    and    breathed   rapidly.      She 


d  she  was  no 
faces.  She 
stood  together 
•self  a  question : 
(Ting,  that  of  a 

a  third  alterna- 
e  did  not  know 
heo  Trist  knew 

vho  was   blush- 
time    to    speak, 
with   a  certain 

stairs,"  he  said, 
in  the  drawing- 
I  have  a  bag 
saries  for  you. 
,  or  will  you  go 
?" 

vith  you  ? "  stam- 
nan  in  a  fright- 
to,  Theo  ? " 
ainst    the    broad 
d   rapidly.      She 


Trist  Act- 


123 


was  really  alarmed,  but  even  fear  could 
not  conquer  her  indomitable  placidity. 

"  I  will  see  you  to  a  safe  hiding- 
place  to-night,  and  Brenda  will  join  you 
to-morrow  morning,"  said  Trist  in  a  tone 
full  of  concentrated  energy,  though  his 
eyes  never  lighted  up.  "  Be  quick  and 
decide,  because  Brenda  is  alone  upstairs 
with  .  .  ,  him." 

Mrs.  Wylie's  eyebrows  moved  imper- 
ceptibly beneath  her  veil.  She  thought 
she  saw  light. 

Mrs.  Huston  played  nervously  with  a 
tassel  that  was  hanging  from  her  muff 
for  the  space  of  a  moment;  then  she 
raised  her  eyes,  not  to  Trist's  face,  but 
to  Mrs.  Wylie's.  Instantly  she  lowered 
them  again. 

"  I  will  go  with  you !  "  she  said,  almost 
inaudibly,  and  stood  blushing  like  a 
school-girl   between   two  lovers. 

Mrs.  Wylie  raised  her  head,  sniffing 
danger  like  an  old  hen  when  she  hears 
the  swoop  of  long  wings  above  the 
chicken-yard.      Her  glance   turned  from 


» 

4 


u 


124 


Suspense 


Alice  Huston's  face,  with  a  slow  im- 
patience almost  amounting  to  contempt, 
and  rested  upon  Theodore  Trist's  meek 
eyes,  raised  to  meet  hers  meaningly. 
Then  somehow  her  honest  tongue  found 
itself  tied,  and  she  said  nothing  at  all. 
The  flood  of  angry  words  subsided 
suddenly  from  her  lips,  and  she  waited 
for  the  further  commands  of  this  soft- 
spoken,  soft-stepping,  soft-glancing  man, 
with  unquestioning  obedience. 

He  moved  slightly,  looked  down  at 
the  bag  in  his  hand,  and  then  glanced 
comprehensively  from  the  top  of  Mrs. 
Huston's  smart  bonnet  to  the  sole  of 
her  small  shoe.  He  could  not  quite 
lay  aside  the  old  campaigner,  and  the 
beautiful  woman  was  moved  by  a  strange 
suspicion  that  this  young  man  was  not 
admiring  her  person  but  considering 
whether  her  attire  were  fit  for  a  long 
journey  on  a  November  evening. 

"  Come,  then !  "  he  said. 

Still  Mrs.  Huston  hesitated. 

Suddenly   she    appeared    to    make   up 


L- 


Trist  Acts 


125 


I  slow  im- 
5  contempt, 
'rist's  mock 

meaningly, 
ngue  found 
hing  at  all. 
s     subsided 

she  waited 
)f  this  soft- 
incing  man, 

:d  down  at 
len  glanced 
Dp   of    Mrs. 

the  sole  of 
[  not  quite 
er,  and  the 
ly  a  strange 
an  was   not 

considering 
for   a  long 


o    make   up 


her  mind,  for  she  went  up  two  steps 
and  kissed  Mrs.  Wylie  with  hysterical 
warmth.  This  demonstration  seemed  to 
recall  Trist  to  a  due  sense  of  social 
formula.  He  returned,  and  shook  hands 
gravely  with  the  widow. 

"  Go  to  Brenda ! "  he  said,  and  the 
matron  bowed  her  head. 

Again  she  raised  her  eyebrows,  and 
there  was  a  flicker  of  light  in  her  eyes 
like  that  which  gleams  momentarily  when 
a  person  is  on  the  brink  of  a  great  dis- 
covery. 

The  next  minute  she  was  running  up- 
stairs, while  the  footsteps  of  the  two  fugi- 
tives died  away  in  the  roar  of  traffic. 

"  Theo,"  she  said  to  herself,  while  await- 
in"-  an  answer  to  her  summons  at  her  own 
door,  "  must  be  of  a  very  confiding  nature. 
He  expects  such  utter  and  such  blind 
faith  at  the  hands  of  others." 

The  maid  who  opened  the  door  was 
all  eagerness  to  impart  to  her  mistress 
certain  vague  details  and  incomprehen- 
sible sounds  which  had  reached  her  curi- 


126 


Suspense 


ous  ears.  She  had  a  thrilling  tale  of  how 
Captain  Huston  had  rung  loudly  and 
pushed  roughly  through  the  open  door; 
how  there  had  been  loud  words  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  then  a  noise  like  •'  mov- 
in'  a  pianer " ;  how  a  silence  had  followed, 
and,  finally,  how  Mr.  Trist  (and  not  Cap- 
tain Huston,  as  might  have  been  expected) 
had  left  just  a  minute  ago.  But  the  even- 
ing milkman  was  destined,  after  all,  to 
receive  the  first  and  unabridged  account 
of  these  events.  Mrs.  Wylie  merely  said, 
"That  will  do,  Mary,"  in  her  unruffled 
way,  and  passed  on. 

She  entered  the  drawing-room,  and 
found  Brenda  standing  near  the  window, 
with  one  hand  clasping  the  folds  of  the 
curtain. 

Captain  Huston  was  sitting  on  a  low 
chair  beside  the  fire,  weeping  gently. 
His  bibulous  sobs  were  the  only  sound 
that  broke  an  unpleasant  silence.  Brenda 
was  engaged  in  adding  to  her  experiences 
of  men  ana  their  ways  a  further  illustra- 
tion tending  towards  contempt. 


'M 


Trist  Acts 


127 


;  tale  of  how 
loudly  and 
open  door; 
ords  in  the 
e  like  •'  mov- 
lad  followed, 
nd  not  Cap- 
en  expected) 
iut  the  even- 
after  all,  to 
2;ed  account 
merely  said, 
er  unruffled 

j-room,  and 
the  window, 
folds  of  the 

g  on  a  low 
ling  gently, 
only  sound 
ce.  Brenda 
experiences 
:her  illustra- 
pt. 


"  He  is  quite  gentle  and  tractable  now ! " 
she  whispered. 

Mrs.  Wylie  took  her  hand  within  her 
fingers,  clasping  it  with  a  soft  protecting 
strength. 

"  Is  he  .  .  .  tipsy  ?  " 

"  No !  "  answered  Brenda,  with  a  pecu- 
liar catch  in  her  breath ;  "  he  is  only 
stupefied." 

"Stupefied  .  .  .  how?" 

"  I  ...  I  will  tell  you  afterwards." 

The  quick-witted  matron  had  already 
discovered  that  some  of  her  furniture  was 
slightly  displaced,  so  she  did  not  press 
her  question. 

At  this  moment  Captain  Huston  rose 
to  his  feet,  and  took  up  a  position  on  the 
hearthrug. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  said,  with  concen- 
trated calmness,  "  whether  the  law  has 
anything  to  say  against  people  who  har- 
bour runaway  wives;  but,  at  all  events, 
society  will  have  an  opinion  on  the 
subject." 

He  ignored  the  fact  that  he  had  in  no 


13 


128 


Suspense 


way  greeted  Mrs.  Wylie,  addressing  his  re- 
marks to  both  ladies  impartially.  By  both 
alike  his  attack  was  received  in  silence. 

"  I  will  find  her,"  he  continued.  "  You 
need  have  no  false  hopes  on  that  score. 
All  the  Theodore  Trists  in  the  world 
(which  is  saying  much  —  for  scoundrels 
are  common  enough)  will  not  be  able  to 
hide  her  for  long !  " 

Mrs.  Wylie  still  held  Brenda's  hand 
rvithin  her  own.  At  the  mention  of 
Tr*3t's  name  there  was  an  involuntary 
cc!  • '  Jtion  of  the  white  fingers,  and  the 
wi',..      •  iddenly  determined  to  act. 

••Cai.  ;:>.  Huston,"  she  said  gravely, 
"when  you  are  calmer,  if  you  wish  to 
talk  of  this  matter  again,  Brenda  and  I 
will  be  at  your  service.  At  present  I  am 
convinced  that  it  is  better  for  your  wife 
to  keep  away  from  you  —  though  I  shall 
be  the  first  to  welcome  a  reconciliation." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  walked 
slowly  to  the  door.  It  was  Brendu  who 
rang  the  bell.  Captain  Huston  passed 
out  of  the  room  without  another  word. 


Trist  Acts 


129 


jsing  his  re- 

y.    By  both 

I  silence. 

led.  "  You 
that  score, 
the  world 
scoundrels 

t  be  able  to 

nda's  hand 
mention  of 
involuntary 
ITS,  and  the 
»  act. 

lid  gravely, 
ou  wish  to 
:enda  and  I 
)resent  I  am 
)r  your  wife 
ough  I  shall 
ticiliation." 
and  walked 
Brendtt  who 
ston  passed 
ler  word. 


It  would  almost  seem  that  the  ingenu- 
ous Mary  anticipated  the  call,  for  she  was 
waiting  in  the  passage  to  show  Captain 
Huston  out.  She  returned  almost  at  once 
to  the  drawing-room,  with  a  view  (cloaked 
beneath  a  prepared  question  respecting 
tea)  of  satisfying  her  curiosity  regarding 
the  sound  which  had  suggested  the  mov- 
ing of  a  "pianer."  But  there  was  no 
sign  of  disorder;  everything  was  in  its 
place,  and  Brenda  was  standing  idly  near 
the  mantelpiece. 

"We  will  take  tea  at  once,  Mary," 
said  Mrs.  Wylie,  unloosening  her  bonnet- 
strings. 

Mary  was  forced  to  retire,  meditating 
as  she  went  over  the  inscrutability  and 
coldness  of  the  ordinary  British  lady. 

"  Ah  ! "  sighed  Mrs.  Wylie,  when  the 
door  was  closed.  "  Now  tell  me,  Brenda  ! 
What  has  happened  ?  Did  these  two  men 
meet  here  ?  I  am  quite  in  the  dark,  and 
have  a  sort  of  dazed  feeling,  as  if  I  had 
been  reading  Carlyle  at  the  French  plays, 
and  had  got  them  mixed  up." 


J 


I  ^o  Suspense 

"Theo  came  first,"  answered  Brenda, 
"to  warn  us  that  Captain  Huston  had 
come  home  in  the  same  steamer  as  him- 
self, without,  however,  recognizing  him. 
While  we  were  talking  the  other  came  in. 
He  did  not  see  Theo,  who  was  behind  the 

door.  ..." 

"  I  suppose  he  was  tipsy  ? " 

"  No ;  he  was  quite  sober.     He  looked 
horrible.     His  eyes  were  bloodshot  —  his 

lips  unsteady  ... 

Mrs.   Wylie    stopped    the    description 
with  a  sharp,  painful  nod  of  her  head.  ^^ 

••  Was  he  quite  clear  and  coherent  ? " 

"Yes!" 

"  But  .  .  .  just  now  .  .  ."  argued  Mrs. 
Wylie,  vainly  endeavouring  to  make 
Brenda  resume  the  narrative —  "  just  now 
he  was  quite  stupid  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  happened,  Brenda  ? " 

At  this  moment  Mary  brought  in  the 
tea  and  set  it  briskly  down  on  a  small 
table.  Brenda  stepped  forward,  and  began 
pouring  out. 


Trist  Acts 


i3> 


cd  Brenda, 
iuston  had 
\er  as  him- 
lizing  him. 
ler  came  in. 
i  behind  the 


He  looked 
idshot  —  his 

description 
»r  head, 
iherent  ? " 

argued  Mrs. 
y  to  make 
—  "  just  now 


ought  in  the 
1  on  a  small 
rd,  and  began 


"  Wh.^t  happened,  Brenda  ?  "  repeated 
Mrs.  Wylie,  when  the  door  was  closed. 

Then  she  approached,  took  the  teapot 
from  her  hand,  and  by  gentle  force  turned 
the  motherless  girl's  face  towards  herself. 

"  My  darling,"  she  whispered,  drawing 
the  slim  form  to  her  breast,  "  why  should 
you  hide  your  tears  from  me?  " 

"  He  came  in,  and  asked  me  to  tell  him 
where  Alice  was.     I  refused,  and  then  .  .  ." 

"Then  .  .  .?" 

"  He  tried  to  hit  me." 

"Tried  .  .  .  Brenda?" 

"  Well  ...  he  just  reached  me." 

"  And  .  .  .  Theo  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Wylie. 
"WhatdidTheodo?" 

There  was  a  short  pause,  during  which 
both  ladies  attended  to  their  cups  with  an 
unnatural  interest. 

"  I  have  never  seen  him  like  that  be- 
fore," murmured  the  girl  at  length.  "  I 
did  not  know  that  men  were  ever  like 
that.     It  was  .  .  .  rather  terrible  .  .  ." 

"  My  poor  child,"  whispered  Mrs.  Wylie. 
"  I  ought  never  to  have  left  you  here  alone. 


132 


Suspense 


We  might  have  guessed  that  that  man 
Huston  would  be  home  soon.  Did  he 
hurt  you,  Brenda  ?  " 

•'No;  he  frightened  me  a  little,  that 
was  all." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  had  Theo  I  "  Mrs. 
Wylie  purposely  turned  away  as  she  said 
these  words. 

Brenda  sipped  her  tea,  and  made  no 
reply. 

It  had  been  twilight  when  Mrs.  Wylie 
returned  home,  and  now  it  was  almost 
dark.  The  two  ladies  sat  in  the  warm 
firelight,  with  their  feet  upon  the  fender. 
Tea  laid  aside,  they  continued  sitting 
there  while  the  flames  leapt  and  fell  again, 
glowing  on  their  thoughtful  faces,  gleam- 
ing on  the  simple  jewellery  at  their  throats. 
From  the  restless  streets  came  a  dull,  con- 
tinuous roar  as  of  the  sea. 

Mrs.  Wylie  it  was  who  moved  at  last, 
rising  with  characteristic  determination,  as 
if  the  pastime  of  thought  were  a  vice  not 
wisely  encouraged.  She  stood  before 
Brenda    in    her   widow's   weeds,   looking 


Trist  Acts 


133 


that  man 
.     Did   he 

little,   that 

teo!"  Mrs. 
IS  she  said 

made   no 

Mrs.  Wylie 
ivas   almost 
the  warm 
the  fender. 
Lied    sitting 
d  fell  again, 
aces,  gleam- 
heir  throats. 
a  dull,  con- 


down  through  the  dim  light  with  a  faint 
smile. 

"  Come,"  she  said  ;  "  we  must  get  ready 
for  dinner.  Remember  that  Mrs.  Hicks 
is  going  to  call  for  you  at  eight  o'clock  to 
take  you  to  that  Artists'  Guild  soiree.  I 
should  put  on  a  white  dress  if  I  were  you, 
and  violets.  The  gifted  William  Hicks, 
whom  we  met  in  the  Park  this  afternoon, 
asked  what  flowers  he  should  bring,  and 
I  suggested  violets." 

Brenda  laughed  suddenly,  but  her  hilar- 
ity finished  in  a  peculiar,  abrupt  way. 

"  Telle  est  la  vie !  "  she  murmured,  as 
she  rose  obediently.  "  What  a  labour  this 
enjoyment  sometimes  is ! " 


ived  at  last, 
mination,  as 
e  a  vice  not 
:ood  before 
ids,   looking 


!' 


Ill 


134 


Suspense 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE    SPORT    OF    FATE 


THE  evening  after  Alice  Huston's 
flight  from  London,  Trist  suddenly 
determined  to  see  Captain  Huston  him- 
self. This  was  a  matter  to  be  settled 
between  men. 

He  called  a  hansom,  and  drove  to  the 
club  of  which  the  books  showed  a  sub- 
scription as  due  from  Captain  Huston. 
In  return  for  this  privilege  its  doors 
were  still  thrown  open  to  the  disgraced 
soldier.  Careful  inquiries  at  the  door 
elicited  the  information  that  Huston  had 
been  there. 

"  He  was  taken  ...  he  went  away  with 
a  friend  a  good  half-hour  ago,  sir,"  the 
porter  added  with  a  curious  smile. 

The  smile  did  not  escape  the  ques- 
tioner's glance,  and,  in  consequence  of  it, 


The  Sport  of  Fate 


»35 


;    Huston's 

ist  suddenly 

luston  him- 

be  settled 

rove  to  the 
wed  a  sub- 
in  Huston. 
;  its  doors 
,e  disgraced 
:  the  door 
Huston  had 

it  away  with 

;o,   sir,"  the 

jmile. 

J  the    ques- 

[uence  of  it, 


Trist  inquired  for  another  friend,  who  took 
him  to  the  smoking-room. 

The  information  he  gathered  from 
friends  there  was  not  of  an  encouraging 
nature.  One  youth,  with  downy  lip  and 
weak,  dissipated  eyes,  volunteered  the 
statement  that  Huston  had  gone  home  to 
his  diggings  as  tight  as  a  drum.  This 
news  was  apparently  of  an  hilarious  drift, 
because  the  speaker  finished  with  a  roar 
of  throaty  laughter.  An  older  man  looked 
up  over  his  evening  paper,  and  nodded  a 
grave  acquiescence  in  reply  to  Trist's 
raised  eyebrows. 

"  Does  anybody  know  his  address  ?  " 
inquired  the  correspondent. 

Nobody  did. 

Upon  inquiry  at  the  door,  Trist  n.  ide 
the  discovery  that  the  porter  had  for- 
tunately been  asked  to  give  the  direction 
to  the  driver  of  the  cab  in  which  Huston 
had  been  taken  away.  The  address  was 
one  hardly  known  to  the  war-corre- 
spondent—  a  small  street,  leading  out  of 
another  small  street,  near  the  Strand. 


r^WB^wjPWW  <■ 


.  I  — 


136 


Suspense 


In  his  quiet  way  he  suddenly  deter- 
mined to  follow  Huston.  He  lighted  a 
cigar  at  the  spirit-lamp  affixed  to  the  door- 
post, and  then  called  a  cab. 

"  I  am  not,"  he  reflected  with  some 
truth  as  he  descended  the  steps,  "  I  am 
not  an  imaginative  person,  nor  very 
highly  strung ;  but  ...  I  feel  .  .  .  some- 
how ...  as  if  something  were  going 
to  happen." 

There  was  a  considerable  delay  in  the 
Strand,  where  the  traffic  was  much  con- 
gested owing  to  the  out-pouring  theatres. 
A  fog  was  hovering  round  the  lamps 
already,  and  would  soon  envelop  every- 
thing. The  first  keen  frost  of  the  season 
was  at  hand,  with  its  usual  disastrous 
effects  to  London  lungs.  Amidst  the  con- 
fusion, the  roar  of  traffic,  the  deafening 
shouts  of  drivers,  policemen,  and  runners 
with  latest  editions  of  evening  papers, 
Trist  sat  forward,  with  his  arms  upon  the 
closed  door  of  the  hansom,  and  enjoyed 
his  cigar.  All  this  rush  of  life  and  con- 
fusion   of   humanity    thrilled    him.       He 


^■■mMWMjfcuiJ  Miyiipp* 


e  suddenly  deter- 
m.  He  lighted  a 
iffixed  to  the  door- 
;ab. 

lected  with  some 
the  steps,  "  I  am 
person,  nor  very 
.  I  feel  .  .  .  some- 
hing     were    going 

arable  delay  in  the 
ic  was  much  con- 
it-pouring  theatres, 
round   the    lamps 
on  envelop   every- 
frost  of  the  season 
s   usual  disastrous 
5.     Amidst  the  con- 
ffic,   the   deafening 
emen,  and  runners 
of   evening   papers, 
his  arms  upon  the 
nsom,  and  enjoyed 
sh  of  life  and  con- 
hrilled    him.       He 


The  Sport  of  Fate 


137 


almost  felt  as  if  he  were  at  work  again 
making  his  way  to  the  front  through  the 
wild  melee  of  a  disorganized  and  retreat- 
ing army;  cavalry  and  infantry,  baggage 
and  artillery,  all  hopelessly  intermingled. 
As  he  progressed  he  noted  with  admira- 
tion the  cool  skill  of  the  policemen,  each 
man  alone  acting  on  his  own  responsi- 
bility, and  yet  connected  by  the  invisible 
links  of  discipline. 

At  length  the  driver  escaped  into  a 
narrow  street,  and,  turning  sharply  to  the 
right,  drew  up  before  a  tall  narrow  house, 
bearing,  on  a  dingy  lamp  above  the  door, 
the  legend  "  No.  32,  Private  Hotel."  A 
hopeless  waiter,  with  shuffling  shoes  and  a 
shirt-front  of  uncertain  antecedents,  an- 
swered the  summons  of  a  melancholy  bell, 
which  seemed  to  tinkle  under  strong  pro- 
test, and  as  briefly  as  possible. 

"Captain  Huston  living  here.?"  in- 
quired Trist. 

"  Yess'r.     Er  you  the  doctor  ?  " 

The  war-correspondent  hesitated  for  a 
moment.  Then  he  stepped  into  the  nar- 
row hall. 


J  ^3  Suspense 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  _ 

» 'E  's  got  it  bad  this  time,  si-,   volun- 
teered the  waiter,  with  melancholy  effusion 
Tribt  nodded  his  head  shortly,  and  laid 

aside  his  hat.  ^^ 

"  Take  me  to  his  room,  please,  he  saia. 
The  waiter  shuffled  on  in  front,  and 
the  young  fellow  followed  him  up  the 
dingy  stairs,  walking  lightly  where  the 
polished  knots  of  pinewood  peeped  through 
the  clammy  oilcloth. 

We  will  let  Theodore  Trist  enter  that 
room  alone.  His  walk  in  life  has  not 
been  in  the  flowery  part  of  the  garden, 
but  through  the  rougher  growths  where 
good  is  sometimes  hidden  beneath  a  hid- 
eous exterior,  and  he  knew  already  how 
slight  a  division  there  is  between  man  and 
brute.     Any  battle-field  would  have  taught 

him  that. 

The  doctor  came,  and  stayed  longer 
than  he  could  conscientiously  spare  out 
of  his  busy  life.  It  was  half-past  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning  before  he  went 
away,  leaving  Trist  alone  with  Huston,  to 


"-*"- 


The  Sport  of  Fate 


139 


me,  si'-,"  volun- 
ncholy  effusion, 
liortly,  and  laid 

please,"  he  said. 
1  in  front,  and 
;d  him  up  the 
htly  where  the 
.  peeped  through 

Trist  enter  that 
in  life  has  not 
t  of  the  garden, 
growths,  where 
n  beneath  a  hid- 
lew  already  how 
Detween  man  and 
vould  have  taught 

id  stayed  longer 
tiously  spare  out 
vas  half-past  one 
before  he  went 
e  with  Huston,  to 


whom  sleep  had  come  at  last.  Before 
leaving  he  promised,  however,  to  send  an 
experienced  nurse. 

The  war-correspondent  sat  in  a  deep 
leather-covered  arm-chair  before  the  smoul- 
dering fire,  contemplating  his  own  shoes. 
A  man  of  many  resources,  he  had  found 
himself  in  many  strange  situations  during 
his  short  thirty  years.  He  had  made  the 
best  of  more  than  one  awkward  dilemma 
by  going  straight  ahead  in  a  patient, 
steady  way.  He  listened  to  the  stertorous 
breathing  of  the  sick  man,  and  never 
thought  of  his  own  fatigue.  There  was 
no  suggestion  of  complaint  in  his  mind 
that  his  evening  of  pleasure  should  have 
had  such  an  unpleasant  finish.  He  did 
not  even  look  at  his  own  dress-clothes 
contrasting  with  the  dingy  surroundings, 
and  appreciate  the  dramatic  force  of  it  all 
as  Hicks  might  have  done.  It  was  merely 
an  incident  in  his  life,  another  opportunity 
to  exercise  for  his  own  satisfaction  that 
power  of  adaptability  to  environment  which 
was  in  reality  his  chief  aid  to  success  in 


140 


Suspense 


the  peculiar   surroundings   of  his  varied 

life. 

The  nurse  could  scarcely  be  expected 
for  half  an   hour  or   so,  and   there   was 
nothing  else  to  do  but  keep  faithfully  the 
watch  that  was  his  in  the  meantime.     It 
was  rather  strange  that  Trist  should  have 
saved  twice  within  a  month  the  worthless 
life  of  this   man   who  had  done  his  best 
to  throw  it  away.     As  has  already  been 
stated,  this  student  of  Death  had  his  own 
views  upon  the  worth  of  human  life  —  a 
semi-Oriental  philosophy  which  would  not 
bear  setting  forth  here  in  black  and  white 
to  sensitive  Western  minds.     There  is  no 
doubt  that  familiarity  with  death   breeds 
a  contempt  for  life.     Doctors  and  soldiers 
have  a  different  view  of  human  life  from 
that  held  by  the   rest  of  mankind;  but 
there  is  something  in  us  which  is  stronger 
than   the  strongest  views  —  namely,  the 
instinct  of  preserving  life.     Theodore  Trist 
knew  that  the  miserable  existence  to  which 
was   attached   the   name   Alfred    Huston 
was  in  every  way  valueless.    To  its  pos- 


of  his  varied 

be  expected 
id  there  was 
)  faithfully  the 
Tieantime.  It 
it  should  have 

the  worthless 
done  his  best 

already  been 
1  had  his  own 
uman  life  —  a 
lich  would  not 
ack  and  white 
There  is  no 
I  death  breeds 
rs  and  soldiers 
aman  life  from 

mankind;  but 
tiich  is  stronger 
—  namely,  the 
Theodore  Trist 
stence  to  which 
Alfred  Huston 
s.    To  its  pos- 


The  Sport  of  Fate 


141 


sessor  it  was  a  source  of  wretchedness,  a 
constant  struggle  against  the  over-power- 
ing odds  of  evil.  To  others  his  death 
would  be  a  mercy.  He  knew  this;  he 
valued  his  life  lightly  —  and  yet  he  staved 
off  this  death  twice. 

As  he  sat  and  thought  over  these  things, 
the  fire-light  flickered  rosily  upon  his  face ; 
it  gleamed  in  his  womanly  eyes,  glowed 
upon  his  broad  high  forehead.  He  was 
quite  absorbed  in  his  reflections,  and  never 
glanced  towards  the  bed  which  was  within 
the  deep  crimson  shadow.  He  judged 
from  the  heavy  respiration  that  Huston 
was  asleep ;  in  this,  however,  he  was  mis- 
taken. The  ex-soldier  lay  on  his  back, 
but  his  face  was  turned  towards  the  fire, 
and  his  bloodshot  eyes  were  wide  open. 
His  lips  moved  restlessly,  but  no  sound 
came  from  them  beyond  the  strong  in- 
drawing  of  the  sodden  air.  His  wavering 
glance  wandered  from  Trist's  head  to  his 
feet,  restless  and  full  of  an  insatiable  hatred. 
Upon  the  dirty  white  coverlet  his  fingers 
moved  convulsively,  as  if  clutching  and 
losing  hold  of  something  by  turns. 


142 


Suspense 


It  was  a  terrible  picture,  and  one  that 
could  not  fail  to  arouse  in  thoughtful 
minds  a  hopeless  sense  of  despair.  No 
one  could  look  on  it  and  say  that  human 
life  is  a  success. 

Presently  there  was  a  soft  knock  at 
the  front-door,  and  Trist  rose  from  his 
chair.  His  watch  was  over;  the  hospital 
nurse  had  arrived,  with  her  soft  eyes,  her 
quick,  fearless  fingers.  As  he  left  the 
room,  Trist  turned  and  glanced  towards 
the  bed.  Huston  lay  there  with  closed 
eyes,  unnaturally  still. 

Then  the  war-correspondent  left  the 
room  on  tiptoe.  No  sooner  had  the  door 
closed  than  the  sick  man's  eyes  opened. 
There  was  a  peculiar  shifty  light  in  the 
expanded  pupils,  and  the  man's  horrible 
lips  moved  continuously.  He  sat  up  in 
bed. 

"  Ah  I  "  he  mumbled  thickly  ;  "  I  know 
him.  That's  the  man  .  .  .  that's  the 
man  who's  in  love  with  mv  wife." 

The  fire  rose  and  fell  with  merry 
crackle — for  Trist  had  drawn  the  coals 


.  ^fSiOJ^  ^i*- ' 


The  Sport  of  Fate 


143 


md  one  that 
1  thoughtful 
despair.  No 
r  that  human 

)ft  knock  at 
)se  from   his 

the  hospital 
soft  eyes,  her 

he  left  the 
need  towards 

with   closed 

lent  left  the 
had  the  door 
eyes  opened, 
light  in  the 
lan's  horrible 
le  sat  up  in 

ly ;  "I  know 
.   that's   the 

'  wife." 
with    merry 

wn  the  coals 


together  noiselessly  before  leaving  the 
room— and  in  the  semi-darkness  a  strange 
unsteady  form  moved  to  and  fro. 

"  I  know  him,"  mumbled  the  horrible 
voice,  "  and  ...  I  'm  going  to  shoot 
him." 

There  was  a  slight  sound  as  if  a 
drawer  were  being  searched  in  a  table 
or  piece  of  furniture  which  was  not 
quite  firm  upon  its  base,  and  a  moment 
later  the  door  was  opened  without  noise. 
In  the  passage  a  single  jet  of  gas  burnt 
mournfully,  and  threw  a  flood  of  light 
through  the  open  doorway. 

Upon  the  threshold  stood  Huston, 
quaking  and  swaying  from  side  to  side. 
In  his  trembling  fingers  he  held  a  large 
Colt's  revolver  of  the  cavalry  pattern. 
The  tips  of  the  conical  bullets  peeped 
from  the  chambers  threateningly.  His 
clumsy  hands  were  fumbling  with  the 
hammer,  which  was  stiff  and  deeply 
sunk  within  the  lock;  the  light  was 
bad.  He  raised  the  pistol  closer  to  his 
swimming  eyes,  and  the  barrel,  gleaming 


T44 


Suspense 


blue   and   brown   alternately,  wavered  in 
the  air. 

"  D  —  n  the  thing  !  "  he  muttered 
hoarsely. 

The  next  instant  there  was  a  terrific 
report  through  the  silent  house. 

*  #  *  *      ' 

A  moment  later  Trist  and  the  nurse 
were  at  the  head  of  the  stairs ;  they  had 
raced  up  side  by  side.  The  woman  seized 
a  worn  sheepskin  mat  that  lay  at  the 
door  of  an  empty  bedroom,  and,  drawing 
her  skirts  aside,  knelt  down  and  raised 
the  mutilated  face. 

"Don't  let  it  run  on  the  floor,"  she 
gasped. 

They  were  both  old  hands  and  callous 
enough  to  be  very  quick.  By  the  time 
that  the  startled  household  was  aroused, 
the  dead  man  (for  the  great  bullet  had 
passed  right  through  his  brain)  was  laid 
upon  his  bed,  and  Trist  had  already  gone 
for  the  doctor. 

"  No  one  must  go  in,"  said  the  nurse, 
standing  upon  the  threshold  and   barring 


-Bi>i  ■-t.-IPJ'-H-wH.JIMIU-"-"*^''*'^ 


The  Sport  of  Fate 


HS 


wavered  in 

»     inuttered 

IS  a  terrific 
ise. 

# 
1   the  nurse 
■s ;  they  had 
oman  seized 

lay  at  the 
nd,  drawing 

and  raised 

floor,"  she 

and  callous 
By  the  time 
vas  aroused, 
t  bullet  had 
lin)  was  laid 
already  gone 

\  the  nurse, 
and   barring 


the  way.  "  He  is  dead.  There  is  no- 
thing to  be  done.  Wait  until  the  doctor 
comes." 

Presently  Trist  returned,  bringing  with 
him  the  surgeon  and  a  police-inspector. 
They  all  went  into  the  room  together 
and  closed  the  door.  Trist  turned  up  the 
gas  and  watched  the  movements  of  the 
surgeon,  who  was  already  at  the  bedside. 

"Where  is  the  bullet.?"  asked  the  in- 
spector. 

"In  the  woodwork  of  the  door,"  an- 
swered Trist. 

The  doctor  left  the  bedside  and  came 
into  the  middle  of  the  room,  standing 
upon  the  hearthrug  with  his  back  to- 
wards the  fire. 

"  I  should  be  of  opinion,"  he  said,  "  that 
it  was  an  accident." 

The  inspector  nodded  his  head,  and 
looked  from  the  nurse  to  Trist. 

"  Does  anybody,"  he  asked,  "  know  who 
he  is,  or  anything  about  him  ?  " 

"  I  know  who  he  is  and  all  about  him," 
answered  the  war-correspondent. 

lo 


146 


Suspense 


Note-book  in  hand,  the  inspector 
glanced  keenly  at  the  speaker. 

"And  ...  who  are  .  .  .  you?"  he 
asked,  writing. 

"  Theodore  Trist." 

"  Ah  1 "  murmured  the  doctor. 

The  inspector  drew  himself  up  and  con- 

tinued  writing.  . 

"  Do  you  know,  sir,  what  he  was  domg 
with  the  pistol?  Had  he  any  intention 
of   using  it   upon   himself   or  upon    any 

other  ? " 

Trist  looked  at  his  questioner  calmly. 
»  I  do  not  know,"  he  answered. 


Breaking  It 


147 


inspector 


r. 


you 


?"    he 


CHAPTER   XII 


)r. 

up  and  con- 

e  was  doing 
ny  intention 
r  upon    any 

ler  calmly, 
red. 


BREAKING   IT 

LIKE  one  in  a  dream  Theodore  Trist 
passed  out  into  the  narrow  street 
somewhat  later.  It  was  nearly  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  When  he 
reached  his  quiet  rooms,  he  was  almost 
startled  at  the  sight  of  his  own  dress- 
clothes,  cpotless  shirt-front,  and  unobtru- 
sive flower.  He  was  out  early  next 
morning  and  rang  Mrs.  Wylie's  bell  at 
nine  o'clock.  The  lady  of  the  house 
was  not  down  yet,  but  he  found  Brenda 
in  the  breakfast- room. 

"Surely,"  she  said,  "something  must 
have  happened  to  bring  you  here  so 
early." 

He  smiled,  and  said  nothing. 

Brenda  moved  one  or  two  things  upon 
the  breakfast-table  —  things  which  in  no 
way  required  moving.     For  the  first  time 


148 


Suspense 


in  her  life  she  was  beginning  to  feel  ill  at 
case  with  this  man.  For  the  first  time 
she  dreaded  vaguely  to  hear  him  speak, 
because  she  was  not  sure  that  he  was  at 

ease  himself. 

At  last  he  began,  and  there  was  a 
strained  thrill  in  his  voice  as  if  it  were 
an  effort  to  open  his  lips. 

"  It  has  been  my  .  .  •  fate  .  .  •  Brenda, 
to  be  with  you  or  near  you  during  most  of 
the  incidents  in  your  life  .  .  •"  here  he 

paused. 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured  unsteadily. 

"  I  have,"  he  continued,  "  perhaps,  been 
of  some  small  use  to  you.  I  have 
been  happy  enough  at  times  to  tell  you 
good  news,  and  .  .  •  and  once  or  twice 
I  have  been  the  messenger  of  evil.  .  .  . 

Now  ..."  J  1     1 

"Now,"  interrupted  Brenda  suddenly, 
as  she  came  towards  him.  for  a  light  had 
broken  upon  her -"now  you  have  bad 
news,  Theo  ?  Surely  you  are  not  afraid 
of  telling  it  to  me!" 

"I   don't   exactly  know."  he   answered 


i 


.•1  ill  at 

it  time 

speak, 

was  at 

was   a 
it  were 

Brenda, 
most  of 
tiere  he 


ps,  been 
I  have 
tell  you 
3r  twice 
vil.  .  •  . 

uddenly, 
ight  had 
lave  bad 
ot  afraid 

answered 


Breaking  It 


149 


slowly,  "  whether  it  is  good  news  or  bad. 
Huston  is  dead!" 

She  had  continued  smiling  into  his 
eyes  until  the  last  words  were  spoken, 
then  suddenly  she  turned  her  face  away. 
He  watched  the  colour  fade  from  her 
cheek,  slowly  sinking  downward  until  her 
throat  was  like  marble.  After  a  moment 
ghe  turned  again  and  looked  keenly  at 
him  with  wondering,  horror-struck  cye.s. 

"  Then,"  she  murmured  monotonously, 
"Alice  is  ...  a  widow." 

It  was  a  strange  thing  to  say,  and  she 
had  no  definite  conception  of  the  train 
of  thought  prompting  the  remark.  He 
looked  at  her  in  a  curious,  puzzled  way, 
like  a  man  who  is  near  a  truth,  but  fears 
to  prove  his  proximity. 

"  Does  she  know  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly, 
rousing  herself  to  the  necessity  of  prompt 
action. 

"  No.  I  have  uot  your  aunt's  address 
in  Cheltenham." 

Brenda  looked  at  the  clock  upon  the 
mantelpiece,  a  reliable  mechanism,  which 


15° 


Suspense 


kept  remarkable  time  considering  its  fen-i- 
nine  environments. 

"  Mrs.  Wylie  will  be  here  in  a  moment ; 
we  will  then  consider  about  the  telegram. 
In  the  meantime  .  .  .  tell  me  when  it 
happened,  and  how?" 

"  It  happened  at  two  o'clock  this  morn- 
ing  .  .  .  suddenly." 

Brenda    looked    up   at   the   last   word, 
although  it  was  spoken  quite  gently. 
"Suddenly  .  .  .?" 

"  Yes.  It  ...  he  shot  himself  with  a 
revolver  ...  by  accident!" 

The  man's  gentle  inscrutable  eyes  fell 
before  Brenda's  gaze.  He  moved  un- 
easily, and  turned  away,  apparently  much 
interested  in  the  ornaments  upon  the 
mantelpiece.  ^         _^ 

"  Were  you  present  at  the  time  ? 
"No.     I   was  downstairs.     He  was  in 

his  bedroom."  . 

"Tell  me,"  said  the  girl  mechanically, 
»  what  was  he  doing  with  the  revolver? " 

Trist  turned  slowly  and  faced  her. 
There   was   no   hesitation  in   his  glance 


iring  its  femi- 

n  a  moment ; 
the  telegram, 
me   when    it 

ck  this  morn- 

le   last   word, 
te  gently. 

imself  with  a 

table  eyes  fell 
e  moved  un- 
parently  much 
its    upon    the 

I  time  ? " 

}.     He  was  in 

I  mechanically, 
le  revolver  ? " 
id    faced    her. 
in  his  glance 


Breaking  It 


151 


now;  his  eyes  looked  straight  into  hers 
with  a  deliberate  calm  meaning.  Then 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Who  knows  ? "  he  murmured,  still 
watching  her  face. 

There  flitted  across  his  features  the 
mere  ghost  of  a  deprecating  smile,  which 
was  answered  somewhat  wanly  by  her. 
Women  never  laugh  at  danger  as  men  do. 
They  are  indifferent  to  it,  or  they  dread  it 
undisguisedly,  but  they  do  not  at  any  time 
despise  it. 

When  at  length  Brenda  turned  away 
she  pressed  her  lips  together  as  if  to 
moisten  them,  and  there  was  a  convulsive 
movement  in  her  throat.  They  under- 
stood each  other  thoroughly. 

"  There  will,  of  course,"  said  Trist 
presently,  "  be  an  inquest.  It  is,  however, 
quite  clear  that,  being  left  for  a  moment 
alone,  he  rose  from  his  bed  in  a  fit  of 
temporary  insanity,  and  having  possessed 
himself  of  a  revolver  (possibly  for  suicidal 
purposes),  he  shot  himself  by  accident." 

Brenda  had  crossed  the  room   to  the 


w 


ii 


J -2  Suspense 

window.  Nvhere  she  stood  with  her  b.ck 
towards  her  companion. 

"  Yes '  "  she  murmured  absently. 
She  was  swaying  a  little  from  side  to 
side,  and  her  face  was  raised  in  an  un- 
natural     way.       Trist    stood    upon    the 
hearthrug  with  his  elbow  resting  on  the 
mantelpiece.     He   was   watching  her  at- 
tentively. ,        ,      ^M       oo 
"I  have"  he  said  somewhat  hastily,  as 
if   it  were  an  afterthought,  "  some  influ- 
ence with  the  newspapers." 

Of  this  she  took  no  notice.     It  would 
appear  that  she  had  not  heard  his  voice. 

Then  Trist  moved  restlessly.  After  a 
moment's  hesitation  he  lifted  his  arm  from 
the  mantelpiece  with  the  apparent  inten- 
tion of  going  towards  her.  He  even 
rdetwo^rthreesteps  in  that  direction 

-stepsthatwere  inaudible,  for  his  tread 
was  singularly  light  Then  the  door 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Wylie  came  into   the 

'°  ""l^heo ! "  said  the  lady,  with  rather  less 
surprise  than  might  have  been  expected. 


her  b?ck 

m  side  to 
in  an  un- 
upon  the 
ng  on  the 
ig  her  at- 

hastily,  as 
iome  influ- 

It  would 
\  his  voice. 
,  After  a 
is  arm  from 
irent  inten- 

He  even 
at  direction 
or  his  tread 
I  the  door 
ne  into   the 

h  rather  less 
a  expected. 


Breaking  It 


153 


In  a  moment  she  had  perceived  that 
there  was  something  wrong.  The  very 
atmosphere  of  the  room  was  tense.  These 
two  people  had  either  been  quarrelling  or 
making  love.  Of  that  Mrs.  Wylie  was 
certain.  Her  entrance  had  perhaps  been 
malapropos;  but  she  could  not  go  back 
now.  Moreover,  she  was  the  sort  of  wo- 
man who  never  errs  in  retreating.  Her 
method  of  fighting  the  world  was  from  a 
strong  position  calmly  held,  or  by  a  steady 
sure  advance. 

"  Good-morn.ing,  Theo !  "  she  said,  with 
that  deliberate  cheerincss  which  is  the 
deepest  diplomacy.  "This  is  an  early 
visit.  Have  you  come  to  discover  the 
laziness  of  the  land  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Theo  simply. 

Then  he  turned  and  looked  towards 
Brenda  in  a  way  which  plainly  said  that 
she  was  expected  to  come  forward  into 
the  breach  he  had  effected. 

Brenda  came.  Her  face  was  not  so 
grave  as  Trist's,  but  her  lips  were 
colourless. 


;j.li 


154 


Suspense 


"Theo  has  come,"  she  said,  "with  bad 
news.  We  must  telegraph  to  Ahce  at 
once.     Alfred  Huston  had  •  .  •  an  acci- 

rlent  last  nicfht." 
"what?"  inquired  Mrs.  Wylie.  turn.ng 

'° .^He's  dead -he  shot  l^imself  by  acci- 
dent,"  replied  the  war  correspondent. 

Mrs.  Wylie  stood  tor  some  moments 
i„  her  comfortable,  placid  way  rubtag 
one  smooth  hand  over  the  other,  bhe 
did  not  appear  to  be  looking  anywhere 
in  particular,  but  in  reality  no  movement 
of  Brenda's,  however  slight,  escaped  her 

""And  now."  she  said,  after  a  weary  little 
sigh,  ••  I  suppose  she  will  discover  how 
much  she  loved  him  all  along.  .  .  ■ 

Trist  made  a  little  movement,  but  the 
widow  turned  her  calm  gaze  towards  h.m, 
and  spoke  on,  with  a  certain  emphasis: 

..  Alice  has  in  reality  always  loved 
Alfred  Huston.  This  little  m.sunder^ 
st.anding  would  never  h»e  ansen  had 
there   not   been   love  on   both   sides.     I 


Breaking  It 


155 


ith  bad 
Uicc  at 
in   acci- 

turning 

by  acci- 

;nt. 

Tioments 
rubbing 
er.  She 
inywhere 
lovement 
aped  her 

eary  little 
over  how 

t,  but  the 
vards  him, 
phasis : 
ays    loved 
misundcr- 
irisen  had 
1    sides.     I 


have  known  it  all  along.  You  can  trust 
an  old  woman  on  such  matters.  What  a 
sad  ending  to  it  all." 

"Yes,"' assented  Theo  meekly;   "it  is 

very  sad." 

Brenda  had  turned  away.  She  was 
standing  at  the  window  in  her  favourite 
attitude  there  —  with  her  arms  out- 
stretched,  her  fingers  resting  on  the  broad 
window-sill  among  the  ornamental  fern- 
baskets  and  flower-pots. 

Mrs.  Wylie  walked  to  the  fireplace. 
"  Let  me  think,"  she  said,  half  to  her- 
self, "  what  must  be  done." 

She  knew  that  Trist  was  watching  her, 
waiting  for  his  instructions  in  his  emotion- 
less, almost  indifferent,  way.  If  it  were 
not  for  a  certain  moral  laziness  in  the 
male  temperament,  women  would  be  able 
to  do  very  little  with  men.  Then  the 
widow  met  his  gaze.  She  made  a 
scarcely  perceptible  movement  towards  the 
door  with  her  eyelids.  With  a  slight  nod 
he  signified  his  comprehension  of  the 
signal. 


■S6 


Suspense 


"  I  must,"  he   said,   "  go  back   now   to 
...  to  Huston's  rooms.     Will  you  com- 
municate with  Alice  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Wylie  simply. 

Without  further  explanation  he  went 
towards  the  door,  glancing  at  Brenda  as 
he  passed.     Mrs.  Wylie  followed  him.      ^^ 

"  We  are  better  without  you  just  now, 
she  whispered  in   the  passage.     "Write 
me  full  particulars,  and  wait  to  hear  from 
me  before  you  come  back." 


;,-,- 


now   to 
y'ou  com- 


A  Lesson 


^S1 


he  went 
Irenda  as 
him. 

iust  now," 

"  Write 

hear  from 


CHAPTER   XIII 


A    LESSON 


IN  Suffolk  Mansions  the  absence  of 
Alice  Huston  left  a  less  perceptible 
vacuum  than  that  lady  would  have  imag- 
ined. Mrs.  Wylie  was  intensely  relieved 
that  the  young  widow  had,  so  to  speak, 
struck  out  a  line  of  her  own  —  wherever 
that  line  might  tend  to  lead  her.  Brenda 
was  less  philosophical.  She  tried  to  per- 
suade herself  that  her  sister's  presence 
had  been  a  pleasure,  and,  like  all  pleasures 
withdrawn,  had  left  a  blank  behind  it. 
But  the  pretence  was  at  its  best  a  sorry 
one.  It  is  a  lamentable  fact  that  propin- 
quity is  the  most  powerful  factor  in  human 
loves,  hatreds,  and  friendships.  The  best 
of  friends,  the  most  affectionate  sisters, 
cannot  live  apart  for  a  few  years  without 
fostering  the  growth  of  an  intangible,  silent 
barrier  which  forces  its  way  up  between 


!    < 


•^i     i^WnriiLOTCWWi 


■58 


Suspense 


them,  and  which  we  lighUy  call  a  lack  of 
mutual  interest.    What  is  love  but     mu- 
tual interest?"  , 
Brenda,  «ho  was  herself   the  soul  of 
loyalty,  stood  mentally  aghast  over  the 
ruins  of  her  great  unselfish  love.    She 
imaeined  it  dead,  but  this  was  not  the 
casT   The  two  women  had  drifted  apart 
upon  the  broad  waters  of  life. 

In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Wyl.e  was  watch- 
ing events.  This  good  lady  was  an  opti- 
cs..   She  was  one  of  those  brave  persons 

who  really  in  their  hearts  believe  that 
human  life  is  worth  living  for  its  own 
sT.    She  actually  had  the  effrontery  to 
maintain    that    happiness    is    attainabk^ 
There  are  some  women  like  this  in  the 
world.    They  are  not  what  is  called  m- 
Tdlectual-Ihey  write  no  books    speaj. 
no  speeches,  and  propound  no  theor.es 
but  would  to  God  there  were  more  ot 

""The  daily  life  of  these  two  ladie^  soon 
assumed  its  normal  routine.  Brenda 
: S   political   economy,  Shakespeare. 


A  Lesson 


159 


a  lack  of 
but  "mu- 

le  soul  of 
over  the 
love.  She 
:is  not  the 
•iftcd  apart 

was  watch- 
/as  an  opti- 
ave  persons 
)elieve   that 
or   its   own 
iffrontery  to 
attainable, 
this  in  the 
is  called   in- 
)Oolcs,  speak 
o  theories  — 
ere  more   of 

)  ladies  soon 
le.  Brenda 
Shakespeare, 


and  the  latest  biography  by  turns  in  her 
unproductive,  resultless  way.  Her  nuncl 
craved  for  food  and  refused  nothing; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  it  possessed  no 
decided  tastes.  Before  January  had  run 
out  its  days  she  heard  from  Alice,  who 
had  moved  southwards  to  Monte  Carlo 
with  her  friends  the  Martyns. 

One  afternoon  in  February  Brenda  was 
sitting  alone  in  the  drawing-room  in  Suf- 
folk Mansions  when  a  visitor  arrived.  It 
was  no  other  than  William  Hicks.  His 
entree  was  executed  with  the  usual  fault- 
less grace  and  savoir-faire.  He  carried 
a  soft  hat,  for  it  was  foggy,  and  his  long 
black  cloak  was  thrown  carelessly  back 
to  the  full  advantage  of  a  broad  astrakhan 

collar.  ,      ,     1        'J 

This  was  the  first  visit  he  had  paid 
since  the  death  of  Captain  Huston.  With 
this  fact  in  view  William  Hicks  smiled  in 
a  sympathetic  way  as  he  advanced  with 
outstretched  hand,  but  said  no  word. 
They  shook  hands  gravely,  and  Brenda 
resumed  her  seat. 


■*.=  Tllg^».«B    II 


i5o  Suspense 

"Mrs.  Wylic  has  just  gone  to  your 
mother's,"  she  said,  in  some  surprise. 

Hicks  laid  aside  his  hat,  and  slowly 
drew  off  his  slate-coloured  gloves.  The 
action  was  just  a  trifle  stagy.  He  might 
well  have  been  the  hero  of  a  play  about 
to  begin  a  difficult  scene. 

"Yes,"    he    answered    meaningly;    "I 

know." 

Brenda  turned  her  head,  and  looked  at 
him  in  silence.  Her  attitude  was  hardly 
one  of  surprise,  and  yet  it  betrayed  her 
knowledge  of  his  possible  meaning.  Alto- 
gether it  was  scarcely  sympathetic. 

Hicks  allowed  her  a  few  moments  in 
which  to  make  some  sort  of  reply  or 
inquiry  as  to  his  meaning,  but  she  failed 
to  take  the  cue. 

"  I  found  out  by  accident,"  he  con- 
tinued, "that  Mrs.  Wylie  was  upstairs 
with  my  mother,  and  had  just  arrived. 
It  struck  me  that  you  might  be  J^lone 
liere  —  the  opportunity  was  one  which 
I  have  waited  for  — so  I  came." 

Brenda's  eyes  were  much  steadier  than 


A  Lesson 


i6i 


his,  and  he  was  forced  to  turn  his  gaze 
elsewhere. 

"It  was  very  good  of  you,"  she  said 
with  strange  simplicity,  "to  think  of  my 
solitude." 

Hicks  caressed  his  matchless  moustache 
complacently,  although  he  was  in  reality 
not  quite  at  ease. 

"  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you,"  he  said,  in 
a  tone  which  deprecated  the  thought  of  a 
purely  unselfish  motive  in  the  meritorious 

action. 

"  About  .  .  .  what  ? "  inquired  the  girl, 
without  enthusiasm. 

"  About   myself  —  a  dull    topic,    I   am 

afraid." 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  William  Hicks 
did  not  expect  an  indignant  denial;  for 
such  was  not  forthcoming.  Brenda  leant 
back  in  her  chair  in  the  manner  of 
one  composing  herself  to  the  considera- 
tion of  a  long  and,  probably,  dull  story. 
Her  eyebrows  were  slightly  raised,  but 
she  betrayed  no  signs  of  agitation  or 
suspense. 


II 


i62  Suspense 

Hicks  slipped  his  cloak  from  his 
shoulders  and  rose.  He  stood  on  the 
hearthrug  before  her,  looking  down  upon 
her  as  she  reclined  in  the  deep  chair. 

•'  Brenda,"  he  said,  in  a  carefully  modu- 
lated tone,  "I  am  only  a  poor  painter  — 
that  is  to  say,  I  am  not  making  much 
money  out  of  art.  I  am,  however,  making 
a  name  which  will  no  doubt  be  valuable 
some  day.  In  the  meantime  I  am  for- 
tunately in  a  position  to  disregard  the 
baser  uses  of  art,  and  to  seek  her  only  for 
herself.  I  have  a  certain  position  already, 
and  i  am  content  even  with  it.  I  intend 
to  do  better  —  to  make  a  greater  name. 
And  in  that  aim  —  you  can  help  me  1 " 

He  was  quite  sincere,  but  the  habit  of 
posing  was  so  strong  upon  him  that  the 
magnificence  of  his  offer  perhaps  lost  a 
little  weight  by  the  sense  of  study,  of  fore- 
thought, of  preparation,  as  it  were,  in  the 
manner  of  delivering  it. 

There  was  a  singular  suggestion  of 
Theodore  Trist's  school  of  life  in  the  man- 
ner  in  which  Brenda  looked  up  now  and 


9»k.-   ^  *.  *M*^**-a«« 


A  Lesson 


163 


from    his 
d   on   the 
own  upon 
3  chair, 
illy  niodu- 
painter  — 
ing   much 
er,  making 
e  valuable 
I   am  for- 
•egard  the 
ir  only  for 
)n  already, 
I  intend 
ater  name. 
D  mel " 
le  habit  of 
m  that  the 
laps  lost  a 
idy,  of  fore- 
vere,  in  the 

;gestion  of 
in  the  man- 
ip  now  and 


^pnUc— a  deliberate  ij^norancc,  almost,  of 
tiic  smoother  social  methods. 

"  Are  you,"  she  inquired,  "asking  me  to 
be  your  wife  ?  " 

Hicks  stared  at  her  vacantly.  He  was 
wondering  what  sequence  of  thought 
brought  Theodore  Trist  into  his  mind  at 
that  moment.  The  question  remained 
unanswered  for  some  time. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  at  length  weakly. 
In    all    his    private   rehearsals    of    this 
scene,  he  had  never  conceived  the  possi- 
bility of  having  to  answer  such  a  query. 
It  was  hard  to  do  with  dignity ;  and  for 
the  first  time,  perhaps,  in  his  life  he  was 
not  quite  content  with  his  own  method. 
After  a   momentary  silence  he  recovered 
his  usual  aplomb.     Brenda  was,  he  argued, 
after  all  but  a  girl,  and  all  girls  are  alike. 
Flattery  reaches  them  every  one. 

'  I  have,"  he  said  eagerly,  giving  her  no 
opportunity  of  interrupting  him,  "  known 
many  people — moved  in  many  circles. 
I  am  not  an  inexperienced  schoolboy,  and 
therefore  my  conviction  should  carry  some* 


'*    #. 


•Sj 


164 


Suspense 


weight  with  it.  I  am  certain,  Brenda, 
that  I  could  find  no  more  suitable  wife  if 
I  searched  all  the  world  over.  Your  in- 
fluence upon  my  art  cannot  fail  to  be 
beneficial  —  you  are  eminendy  fitted  to 
ta;ce  a  high  place  in  the  social  world ; 
such  a  place  as  my  wife  will  find  awaiting 
her.  I  have  made  no  secret  of  my  finan- 
cial position ;  and  as  to  my  place  in  the 
art  world  of  this  century,  you  know  as 
much  as  I  could  tell  you." 

He  paused  with  a  graceful  wave  of  his 
white  hand,  and  intimated  his  readiness 
to  receive  her  answer.  He  even  moved 
a  step  nearer  to  her,  in  order  that  he 
might  with  grace  lean  over  her  chair  and 
take  her  hand  when  the  proper  moment 
arrived. 

There  was  no  emotion  on  either  side. 
Neither  forgot  for  a  second  that  they  were 
children  of  a  self-suppressing  generation, 
which  considers  all  outward  warmth  of  joy 
or  sorrow  to  be  "  bad  form."  William 
Hicks  had  delivered  his  words  with  fault- 
less intonation  —  perfect  pitch  —  allowing 


A  Lesson 


165 


n,  Brenda, 
ible  wife  if 
Your  in- 
fail  to  be 
J  fitted  to 
cial  world ; 
id  awaiting 
E  my  finan- 
ilace  in  the 
u   know  as 

wave  of  his 
s  readiness 
:ven  moved 
ler  that  he 
r  chair  and 
)er  moment 

either  side, 
it  they  were 
generation, 
irmth  of  joy 
."  William 
3  with  fault- 
—  allowing 


himself  (as  an  artist)  a  graceful  gesture 
here  and  there.  Brcnda  took  her  cue 
from  him. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  make  me 
such  an  advantageous  offer,"  she  said,  in 
an  even  and  gentle  voice,  in  which  no 
ring  of  sarcasm  could  have  been  detected 
by  much  finer  cars  than  those  of  William 
Hicks,  which  organs  were  partially  para- 
lyzed by  seli-conceit ;  "  but  I  am  afraid  I 
must  refuse." 

The  artist  was  too  much  surprised  to 
say  anything  at  all.  A  refusal  — to  hiin  ! 
One  of  the  most  popular  men  in  London. 
A  great  though  unappreciated  painter  — 
a  perfe  ■.  dancer — a  social  lion.  He  had 
been  run  after,  for  most  men  are  who  take 
the  trouble  to  be  universally  and  impar- 
tially polite ;  but  he  had  never  taken  the 
trouble  of  investigating  the  desirability 
or  otherwise  of  those  who  ran  after  him. 
He  had  not  quite  realized  that  there  was 
not  a  woman  among  them  worthy  to  but- 
ton Brenda's  glove. 

"Will   you   not,"   he    stammered,   with 


i66 


Suspense 


blanched   face,  "reconsider  your  ...  de- 
termination ?  " 

The  girl  shook  hei  head  gravely. 
"  No  1 "  she  replied.  "  There  is  not  the 
slightest  chance  of  my  ever  doing  that 
and  I  am  very  sorry  if  from  anything  I 
have  said  or  done  you  have  been  led  to 
believe  that  my  answer  could  possibly 
have  been  otherwise." 

To  this  Hicks   made  no  direct   reply. 
He   could   not   with  truth  have   accused 
her  of  the  conduct  she  suggested.      Ihe 
fact  merely  was  that  he  had  not  excepted 
Brenda  from  the  rest  of  womankind,  and 
it  had  always  been  his  honest  conviction 
that  he  had  only  to  ask  any  woman  in 
the   world   to  be  his  wife  to  make  tha    ■ 
v.oman  the  happiest  of  her  sex   as  well 
as    the   proudest.     There    is    nothing  ex- 
traordinary   in    this    mild    self-deception. 
We  all  practise  it  with  marvellous  success, 
liicks  had  ncN'er  been  refused  before, 
for  the  simple  reason   that  he  had  never 
hitherto  thought  fit  to  place  his  heart  at 
any  maiden's  feet- 


A  Lesson 


167 


.  de- 


not  the 
ig  that, 
;hing  I 
,  led  to 
jossibly 

t   reply, 
accused 
i     The 
;xcepted 
ind,  and 
inviction 
aman  in 
ake  that 
as  well 
hing  ex- 
eception. 
5  success, 
d  before, 
lad  never 
J  heart  at 


"  But  why,"  he  pleaded,  "  will  you  not 
marry  me  ? " 

Her  answer  was  ready. 

"  Because  I  do  not  love  you." 

"  But  that  will  come,"  he  murmured. 
"  I  will  teach  you  to  love  me  ! " 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face  and 
looked  calmly  at  him.  Even  in  such  a 
moment  as  this  the  habit  of  studying  and 
dissecting  human  minds  was  not  laid 
aside.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were  ponder- 
ing over  his  words,  not  in  connection  with 
herself  at  all,  but  in  a  general  sense. 
She  was  wondering,  no  doubt,  if  there 
vi'crc  vomen  who  could  be  coerced  into 
::)v!ns!  this  man.  As  for  herself  she  had 
no  doubts  whatever.  William  Hicks  pos- 
sessed absolutely  no  influence  over  her, 
but  she  felt  at  that  r,\oment  as  if  it  were 
possible  that  a  man  could  make  her  love 
him  even  against  her  will  if  he  were  pos- 
sessed of  the  necessary  strength  of  pur- 
pose. In  a  vague,  indefinite  way  she  was 
realizinG;  that  woman  is  weaker  than  man 
—  is,  in  fact,  a  weaker  man,  with  smaller 


i68 


Suspense 


capabilities  of  joy  and  sorrow,  of  love, 
hatred,  devotion,  or  remorse ;  and,  in  a 
way,  William  Hicks  profited  by  this 
thought.  She  respected  him — not  indi- 
vidually, but  generally  —  because  he  was 
a  man,  and  because  she  felt  that  some 
women  could  look  up  to  him  and  admire 
him  for  his  mere  manhood,  if  she  herself 
was  unable  to  do  so  because  he  fell  short 
of  her  standard. 

In  the  meantime  Hicks  had  realized 
the  emptiness  of  his  boast.  From  her 
calm  glance  he  had  read  that  her  will 
was  stronger  than  his  own  —  that  she  did 
not  love  him,  and  never  would. 

The  artist  dropped  his  argument  at 
once.  He  turned  away  and  walked  to  the 
window,  where  he  stood  with  his  back 
towards  her,  looking  out  into  the  dismal 
misty  twilight.  Thus  the  girl  allowed 
him  to  stand  for  some  Hme,  and  then  she 
rose  and  went  to  his  sile. 
"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said. 
She  was  beginning  to  think  now  that 
he  really  loved  her  in  his  way,  although 


A  Lesson 


169 


IV,   of   love, 

and,    in   a 

d    by    this 

—  not  indi- 

use  he  was 

that  some 

and  admire 

she  herself 

e  fell  short 

ad   realized 

From  her 

at  her  will 

that  she  did 

rgument  at 
alked  to  the 
h  his  back 
the  dismal 
jirl  allowed 
nd  then  she 


ik  now  that 
ly,  although 


by  some  curious  oversight  he  had  omitted 
to  mention  the  fact. 

He  turned  his  head  in  her  direction, 
and  his  hand  caressed  his  moustache  with 
its  habitual  grace. 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  it,"  he  mur- 
mured. "  Of  course  ...  it  is  a  bitter 
disappointment  to  me.  I  have  been  mis- 
taken." 

She  made  no  attempt  to  alleviate  his 
evident  melancholy  —  expressed  no  regret 
that  he  should  have  been  mistaken.  The 
time  for  sympathy  was  past,  and  she 
allowed  him  to  fight  out  his  bitter  fight 
alone.  Presently  he  went  towards  the 
chair  where  he  had  thrown  his  cloak  and 
hat.  These  he  took  up,  and  returne--'  to 
her  with  his  hand  outstretched. 

"  Good-bye,  Brenda !  "  he  said,  for  once 
without  affectation. 

"Good-bye,"  she  replied  simply,  and 
long  after  William  Hicks  had  left  the 
room  she  stood  there  with  her  hands 
hanging  down  at  either  side. 


-  1 


I/O 


Suspense 


1  ( 


CHAPTER   XIV 

hicks'  secret 

WHEN  Mrs.  Wylie  returned  home 
about  five  o'clock  she  found  the 
drawing-room  still  in  darkness.  The 
maid  had  offered  to  light  the  gas,  but 
Brenda  told  her  to  leave  it.  In  the  pleas- 
ant glow  of  the  firelight  the  widow  found 
her  young  friend  sitting  in  her  favourite 
chair  with  interlocked  fingers  in  her  lap. 

Mrs.  Wylie  closed  the  door  before  she 
spoke. 

"  This  is  bad,"  she  said. 

"  What  is  bad  ?  " 

"  I  believe,"  replied  Mrs.  Wylie  in  her 
semi-serious,  sc  ni-cheerful  way,  "  that  I 
have  warned  you  already  against  the  evil 
practice  of  sitting  staring  into  tlie  fire." 

Brenda  L.ughed  softly,  and  met  the 
kind  gaze  of  the  gray  eyes  that  were 
searching  her  face. 


ned  home 
found  the 
ess.  The 
;  gas,  but 
the  pleas- 
do  w  found 
r  favourite 
I  her  lap. 
before  she 


'He  in  her 
Y,  "that  I 
st  the  evil 
le  fire." 

met    the 
that  were 


Hicks'  Secret 


171 


"  It  has  always  seemed  to  me,  she  said, 
"that  your  philosophy  is  wanting  in 
courage.  It  is  the  philosophy  of  a  moral 
coward.  It  is  braver  and  better  to  think 
out  all  thoughts  —  good  and  bad,  sad  and 
gay  —  as  they  come." 

Mrs.  Wylie  loosened  her  bonnet-strings, 
unhooked    her    sealskin    jacket,   and   sat 

down. 

"  No,"  she  answered  argumentatively. 
"  It  is  not  the  creed  of  a  coward,  no  more 
than  it  is  cowardly  to  avoid  temptation. 
A  practical  man,  however  brave  he  may 
be,  will  do  well  to  avoid  temptation.  A 
sensible  woman  will  avoid  thought. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  replied  the  girl  diplo- 
matically, "  of  tea !  " 

From  the  expression  of  the  widow's  face 
it  would  seem  that  she  accepted  this  state- 
ment with  reservations.  She  made,  how- 
ever, no  remark. 

After  a  little  pause  she  looked  across  at 
Brenda  in  a  speculative  way. 

"Willie  Hicks,"  she  said,  "has  been 
here?" 


jy2  Suspense 

"  Yes.     How  did  you  know  ?  "  inquired 
Brenda  rather  sharply. 
"  Emma  told  me." 

"  Ah ! " 

"Brenda,"  said  the  widow  in  a  softer 
tone,  after  a  pause  of  some  duration. 

"Yes!" 

"  I  have  constructed  a  little  fable  for 
myself,  in  some  part  founded  upon  fact. 
Would  you  like  to  hear  it  ? " 

"Yes,"  replied  the  girl  with  a  slightly 
exaggerated   motie  of   indifference;    "tell 
» 

"  Shortly  after  I  arrived  at  the  Hicks  , 
Willie  went  out.  I  happened  to  know 
this,  because  I  was  near  the  window  in 
the  drawing-room  and  saw  him.  I  also 
noticed  that  his  gait  was  slightly  furtive. 
I  thought,  'That  young  man  does  not 
want  me  to  know  that  he  has  gone  out' 
On  my  way  home  I  met  him  going  in 
the  contrary  direction.  He  avoided  see- 
ing me,  and  did  it  remarkably  well,  as 
might  have  been  expected.  But  there 
was  a  change  in  his  gait,  and  even  in  his 


^Hm 


Hicks'  Secret 


173 


0 


inquired 


a  softer 
on. 

fable  for 
pon  fact. 

1  slightly 
CO ;    "  tell 

e  Hicks', 

to   know 

andow  in 

I.     I   also 

[y  furtive. 

does   not 

gone  out.' 

going  in 

Dided  see- 

y  well,  as 

But  there 

!ven  in  his 


attitude.  The  strange  thought  came  into 
my  head  that  he  had  been  here  to  see  you. 
Then  I  began  to  wonder  what  had  caused 
the  change  I  detected.  It  seemed  as  if 
William  Hicks  had  passed  through  some 
experience  —  had  received  a  lesson.  The 
final  flight  of  my  imagination  was  this: 
that    you,    Brenda,   had    given   him   that 

lesson." 

Mrs.  Wylie  ceased  sp(  ^.iing  and  leant 
back  comfortably.  Brenda  v/as  sitting 
forward  now  with  her  two  hands  clasped 
around  her  knees.  She  was  looking 
towards  her  companion,  and  her  eyes 
glowed  in  the  ruddy  light. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  we  should  respect 
his  secret.  Naturally  he  would  prefer 
that  we  were  silent." 

"We  are  neither  of  us  talkative.  .  .  . 
Then  .  .  .  then  my  fable  was  true  ? " 

Brenda  nodded  her  head. 

"  I  am  glad,"  murmured  the  widow  after 
a  short  silence,  "that  he  has  brought 
matters  to  an  understanding  at  last.  It 
is  probable  that  he  will   turn  out  a  fine 


ti'' 


:!v 


niinimiiwriiiiwrr- 


I  ^A  Suspense 

fellow  when  he  has  found  his  level.  He 
is  finding  it  now.  His  walk  was  different 
as  he  returned  home.  Ml  young  men 
are  objectionable  until  they  have  failed 
signally  in  something  or  other.  Then 
tliey  begin  to  settle  down  into  manhood." 

"  He  misrepresents  himself,"  said  Brenda 
gently.  "  When  he  lays  aside  his  artistic 
affectation  he  is  very  nice." 

"But,"  added  Mrs.  Wylie  with  con- 
viction," he  is  not  half  good  enough  for 

you.  , 

Brenda  smiled  a  little  wistfully  and  rose 
to  preside  at  the  tea-tray,  which  the  maid 
brought  in  at  that  moment. 

And  so  William  Hicks  was  tacitly  laid 
aside.  People  who  live  together  —  hus- 
band and  wife,  brother  and  sister,  woman 
and  woman  —  soon  learn  the  art  of  defcr- 
rincv  a  subject  which  can  gain  nothing 
by'discussion.  There  are  perforce  many 
such  topics  in  our  daily  life- subjects 
which  are  best  ignored,  explanations 
which  are  best  withheld,  details  best 
suppressed. 


Hicks*  Secret 


^7S 


vel.  He 
different 
Ling  men 
ve  failed 
•.  Then 
lanhood." 
id  Brcnda 
is  artistic 

ivith   con- 
lough  for 

r  and  rose 
I  the  maid 

:acitly  laid 
ler  —  hus- 
er,  woman 
t  of  defer- 
n  nothing 
orce  many 
—  subjects 
cplanations 
itails    best 


During  their  simple  tea  and  the  even- 
ing that  followed  there  were  other  things 
to  talk  of,  and  it  was  only  after  dinner, 
when  they  were  left  alone  with  their  work 
and  their  books,  that  Mrs.  Wylie  made 
reference  to  the  afternoon's  proceedings. 

"  On  my  way  back  from  the  Hicks',"  she 
said  conversationally,  "  I  met  Sir  Edward." 

"Ah!     Indeed!  .  .  ." 

Brenda  looked  up  from  the  heavy  vol- 
ume on  her  lap  and  waited  with  some 
interest.  Mrs.  Wylie  paused  some  time 
before  continuing.  She  leant  to  one  side 
and  took  up  a  large  work-basket,  in  which 
she  searched  busily  for  something. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured  at  length,  with 
her  face  literally  in  the  basket;  "and 
.  .  .  Theo  is  in  St.  Petersburg!" 

"  St.  Petersburg ! "  repeated  Brenda 
slowly.  "  In  the  winter.  I  rather  envy 
him!" 

"I  do  not  imagine,"  said  Mrs.  Wylie, 
still  occupied  with  the  dishevelled  con- 
tents of  her  work-basket,  "  that  he  is  there 
on  pleasure." 


1/6 


Suspense 


Bienda  laughed  lightly. 

"  Thco,"  she  observed  in  a  casual  way 
"is  not  much  given  to  pleasure  in  an  un- 
diluted state." 

"  I  like  a  man  who  takes  life  and  his 
life's  work  seriously." 

"  So  do  I,"  assented  Brenda  indifferently. 

She  knew  that  Mrs.  Wylie  was  study- 
ing her  face  with  kindly  keenness,  and 
so  she  smiled  in  a  friendly  way  at  the 
fire,  which  seemed  to  dance  and  laugh  in 
reply. 

"  Is  it  generally  known  that  he  is  in 
St.  Petersburg  ? "  she  asked  with  some 
interest. 

"Oh  no!  Sir  Edward  told  me  in  con- 
fidence. He  says  that  it  does  not  matter 
much,  but  that  he  and  Theo  would  prefer 
it  not  being  talked  about." 

"  Why  has  he  gone  ?  "  asked  the  girl. 

Mrs.  Wylie  laid  aside  the  basket  and 
looked  across  at  her  companion  with  a 
curious,  baffled  smile. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "  I  had 
not  the  .  .  .  the  courage  to  ask." 


.'^. 


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Hicks'  Secret 


177 


Brenda  returned  to  her  book. 

<'  I  suppose,"  she  said  presently,  as  she 
turned  a  page,  "  that  it  means  war." 

The  widow  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  We  must  not  get  into  the  habit,"  she 
suggested,  "  of  taking  it  for  granted  that 
every  action  of  Theo's  means  that." 

"He  lives  for  war,"  said  the  girl  wearily 
as  she  bent  over  her  book  with  decision. 

Mrs.  Wylie  worked  on  in  silence.  She 
had  no  desire  to  press  the  subject,  and 
Brenda's  statement  was  undeniable. 

They  now  returned  to  their  respective 
occupations,  but  Brenda  knew  that  at 
times  her  companion's  eyes  wandered 
from  the  work  towards  her  own  face. 
Mrs.  Wylie  was  evidently  thinking  ac- 
tively—  not  passively,  as  was  her  wont. 
The  result  was  not  long  in  forthcoming. 

"My  dear,"  she  said  energetically,  "I 
have  been  thinking.  Let  us  go  down  to 
Wyl's  Hall." 

Brenda  pondered  for  a  few  seconds 
before  replying.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  there  had  been  any  mention  of  the 


12 


/ 


178 


Suspense 


old  Suffolk  house  since  its  master's  ;jud- 
den  death.     Mrs.  Wylie  had  never  crossed 
the   threshold  of   this,  the   birthplace  of 
many  Wylies  (all  good  sailors),  since  she 
returned  in  the  Hermione  to  Wyvenwich 
a  childless  widow.     All  this  Brenda  knew, 
and  consequently  attached  some   impor- 
tance to  the  suggestion.     During  the  last 
six  months  they  had  lived  on  in  an  un- 
settled  way  from  day  to  day.     Both  had, 
perhaps,  been  a  little  restless.    There  was 
a  want  of  homeliness  about  the  cham- 
bers in  Suffolk  Ma'nsions;  not  so  much, 
perhaps,  in   the   rooms  themselves  as  i- 
the    stairs,   the    common    door   with    its 
civil  porter,  and  the  general  air  of  joint 
proprietorship.     What    we    call    vaguely 
"home"   is   nothing    but  a  combination 
of  small  things  with  their  individual  asso- 
ciations.    The  milkman  with  his  familiar 
cry,   the   well-known   bang  of    the  front 
door,  the  creaking  of  the  wooden  stairs; 
such  trifles  as  these  make  up  our  home, 
form  the  frame  in  which  our  life  is  placed, 
and  each  little  change  is  noted. 


.■.■^'^MH'fM-.' 


Hicks'  Secret 


179 


aster's  ;jud- 
ver  crossed 
rthplare   of 
),  since  she 
W^yvenwich 
enda  knew, 
ime   impor- 
ing  the  last 
I  in  an  un- 
Both  had, 
There  was 
the  cham- 
A  so  much, 
selves  as  i" 
or  with    its 
air  of  joint 
all    vaguely 
combination 
ividual  asso- 
his  familiar 
if    the   front 
>oden  stairs; 
p  our  home, 
jfe  is  placed, 
d. 


To  women  these  small  associations  are, 
perhaps,  dearer  than  they  are  to  us  men. 
No  doubt  they  love  to  be  known  and 
greeted  by  their  neighbours,  rich  or  poor, 
while  we  are  often  indifferent.  The  want 
of  human  sympathy,  of  human  interest 
and  mutual  aid  is  the  most  prominent 
feature  in  town  life.  Men  live  and  die, 
rejoice  and  grieve,  laugh  and  weep  almost 
under  the  same  roof,  and  never  share 
their  laughter  or  mingle  their  tears. 
Faces  may  grow  familiar,  but  hearts  re- 
main estranged,  because  perforce  each 
man  must  fight  for  himself  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  there  is  no  time  to  turn  aside 
and  lend  a  helping  hand. 

Brenda  did  not  lose  sight  of  the  possi- 
bility that  Mrs.  Wylie  might  be  longing 
for  the  familiar  faces  and  pleasant  voices 
of  the  humble  dwellers  in  Wyvenwich  ; 
but  the  proposal  to  return  to  Wyl's  Hall 
was  apparently  unpremeditated,  and  there- 
fore the  girl  doubted  its  sincerity. 

"Not  on  my  account?"  she  inquired 
doubtfully,  without  looking  up. 


\( 


il 


/ 


i8o 


Suspense 


"  No.  On  my  own.  I  am  longing  for 
the  old  place,  Brenda.  This  fog  and 
gloom  makes  one  think  of  the  brightness 
of  Wyvenwich  and  the  sea,  which  is  al- 
ways lovely  in  a  frost.  Let  us  go  at  once 
—  to-morrow  or  the  next  day.  The  win- 
ter is  by  no  means  over  yet,  and  London 
is  detestable.  Even  if  we  are  snowed  up 
at  Wyl's  Hall,  it  does  not  matter  much, 
for  it  is  always  bright  and  cheery  despite 
its  lonel  ness.  We  will  take  plenty  of 
books  and  work."    » 

The  girl  made  no  further  demur,  and 
presently  caught  the  infection  of  her  v  3m- 
panion's  cheerful  enthusiasm.  Mrs.  Wylie 
possessed  the  pleasant  art  of  making  life 
a  comfortable  thing  under  most  circum- 
stances, and  for  such  as  her  a  sudden 
move  has  no  fears.  While  Trist  adapted 
himself  to  circumstances,  Mrs.  Wylie 
seemed  to  adapt  circumstances  to  herself, 
which  is,  perhaps,  the  more  difficult  art. 
The  good  lady  seemed  somewhat  re- 
lieved when  the  move  was  finally  decided 
upon  and   arranged;   nevertheless,  there 


Hicks'  Secret 


i8i 


longing  for 
lis  fog  and 
2  brightness 
which  is  al- 
,  go  at  once 
The  win- 
md  London 
;  snowed  up 
latter  much, 
eery  despite 
e   plenty  of 

demur,  and 

of  her  V  3m- 

Mrs.  Wylie 

making  life 

tiost  circum- 

;r  a  sudden 

>ist  adapted 

Mrs.    Wylie 

es  to  herself, 

difficult  art. 

omewhat   re- 

nally  decided 

heless,  there 


was  a  look  of  anxiety  on  her  round  face 
when  she  sought  her  room  that  night. 

"  I  wish,"  she  observed  to  her  own  re- 
flection in  the  looking-glass,  "  that  I  knew 
what  to  do.  I  must  be  a  terrible  coward. 
It  would  be  so  very  easy  to  ask  Brenda 
outright  .  .  .  though  ...  I  know  what 
the  answer  would  be  .  .  .  poor  child! 
And  I  might  just  as  well  have  spoken  out 
boldly  when  I  went  to  see  him  that  night. 
It  is  a  difficult  predicament,  because  — 
they  are  both  so  strong  1 " 


/ 


l82 


Suspense 


CHAPTER   XV 


WYLS   HALL 


IT  does  not  fall  to  the  lot  of  many  trav- 
ellers by  sea  to  plough  through  the 
yellow  broken  waters  of  the  German  Ocean 
where  the  coast  of  Suffolk  lies  low  and 
fertile.     Thus  it  happens  that  these  shores 
are  littio  visited,  and  never  overrun  by  the 
cheap  tourist.     Upon  this  bleak,  shingly 
shore  there  are  little   villages  and  small 
ancient  towns  quite  unknown  to  the  Au- 
gust holiday-seeker,  who  prefers  crowding 
down  to  the  south  coast.     Wyl's  Hall  lies 
far  away  from  railway  and  the  noise  of 
haste. 

All  through  February  and  March  the 
two  ladies  had  lived  happily  here  without 
longing  for  the  busier  life  of  London. 
The  human  mind  is  even  more  adaptable 
to  circumstances  than  the  body  that 
carries  it.     Small  interests  soon  take  the 


Wyl's  Hall 


,83 


)f  many  trav- 
through  the 
ertnan  Ocean 
lies  low  and 
t  these  shores 
/errun  by  the 
)leak,  shingly 
es  and  small 
n  to  the  Au- 
fers  crowding 
^yl's  Hall  lies 
the  noise  of 

d  March  the 
r  here  without 
;  of  London, 
lore  adaptable 
e  body  that 
soon  take  the 


place  of  large,  and  quietude  soon  follows 
on  excitement  without  any  great  mental 
change  being  necessary. 

At  times  Mrs.  Wylie  heard  about  Theo- 
dore Trist  —  usually  a  vague  rumour  that 
he  was  in  London,  or  Paris,  or  Berlin.  In 
his  deliberate  way  he  was  building  up  for 
himself  a  great  reputation  in  that  inner 
diplomatic  world  which  is  a  sealed  cham- 
ber for  prying  journalism  of  the  cheaper 
sort.  Upon  certain  international  subjects 
the  newspaper  he  served  was  without  rival, 
but  the  closest  observer  could  not  detect 
his  pen  or  assign  any  statement  to  him. 
The  secret  remained  inviolate  between 
himself  and  his  editor.  The  position  of 
Theodore  Trist  was  unique,  and  has  not 
since  been  approached.  His  grasp  of  the 
great  subject  of  war  was  extraordinary  at 
this  time  of  his  life,  when  all  his  faculties 
were  in  full  strength.  From  the  lock  of  a 
Berdan  rifle  to  the  construction  of  a 
trench,  from  the  strap  of  a  knapsack  to 
the  details  of  a  treaty,  his  knowledge  was 
unrivalled.     In  diplomacy  he  could  have 


184 


Suspense 


made  his  mark  had  he  so  wished,  but  he 
contented  himself  with  studying  the  art  as 
a  sailor  learns  astronomy  —  merely  as  a 
factor  in  his  profession.  In  some  coun- 
tries he  was  cordially  hated  —  notably  in 
Germany,  where  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  his  position  were  incomprehen- 
sible. The  Teutonic  mind  cannot  giasp 
certain  motives  which  solely  depend  upon 
a  sense  of  honour  or  find  birth  in  a  scru- 
pulous uprightness. 

That    which    vfe    in    our    trammelled 
smallness  call "  scruple  "  they  possess  not ; 
and  to  that  cause  must  be  assigned  the 
reason   that  the   great   Teutonic    nation 
never   understood   Theodore    Trist.     His 
position  was  to  them  an  anomaly.     They 
could  not  realize  that  he  was  capable  of 
serving  two   nations  —  France  and  Eng- 
land —  honestly  at  the  same  time,  and  so 
they  distrusted  him.     He  was  hated  be- 
cause he  had  dared  to  criticise  a  military 
policy  which  was  modestly  considered  in 
Berlin  as  the  ablest  yet  conceived   since 
armies   first  ruled  the  world.    Added  to 


I 


/ 


shed,  but  he 
ng  the  art  as 
merely  as  a 
I  some  coun- 
—  notably  in 
liar  circum- 
incomprehen- 
cannot  g»asp 
depend  upon 
th  in  a  scru- 

•  trammelled 
r  possess  not ; 
assigned  the 
tonic  nation 
;  Trist.  His 
)maly.  They 
as  capable  of 
ice  and  Eng- 
1  time,  and  so 
iras  hated  be- 
ise  a  military 
considered  in 
nceived  since 
d.    Added  to 


Wyl's  Hall 


185 


this  there  was  the  rankling  sore  of  an 
unforgotten  story,  told  bluffly  and  with 
scathing  sarcasm  in  a  French  and  English 
newspaper  simultaneously  —  the  story  of  a 
dastardly  attempt  to  extract  information 
from  a  faithful  Alsatian  peasant  woman 
by  means  of  what  in  barbarous  ages  we 
would  have  denominated  infamous  torture. 

Once  Mrs.  Wylie  heard  directly  from 
Theodore  Trist  —  a  short  note,  sent  with 
some  quaint  old  jewellery  he  had  brought 
back  from  the  Slavonski  Bazar  in  Mos- 
cow for  herself  and  Brenda. 

March  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  the 
low  Suffolk  lands  were  already  green  by 
reason  of  their  dampness,  when  a  second 
communication  arrived  at  Wyl's  Hall  from 
the  busy  correspondent. 

"  May  I,"  he  asked  tersely,  "  come  down 
for  a  day  or  two  to  see  you  ?  Please  an- 
swer by  telegraph." 

The  note  came  at  breakfast-time,  and 
a  messenger  was  at  once  despatched  to 
Wyvenwwich  with  a  telegram. 

"  It  is  quite  an  age  since  we  have  seen 


1 1 


I 


1 86  Suspense 

Thto,"  observed  Mrs.  Wylic  pleasantly,  as 
she  wrote  out  the  message. 

Brenda,   who   was   occupied   with    her 
letters,   acquiesced    carelessly;    but   in   a 
few   moments  she  laid   the  communica- 
tions aside  and  took   up  the  newspaper. 
With  singular  nonchalance  she  opened  it 
and   went   towards   the   window.     There 
was  nothing  very  peculiar  in  this  action, 
and   yet   the    girl's  movements  were    in 
some  slight  and  inexplicable  way  embar- 
rassed.    It  seemed  .^almost  as  if  she  did 
not  wish  Mrs.  Wylie  to  notice   that  she 
was  looking  at  the   newspaper.     During 
breakfast  there  was  a  furtive  anxiety  visi- 
ble in   the   manner  and  voice   of   these 
deceitful  women.     Each  attempted  to  re- 
joice openly  over  the  advent  of  Theodore 
Trist,   and  at   the   same    time    carefully 
avoided  seeking  a  reason  for  his  unusual 
mode  of  procedure ;  for  Trist  was  a  man 
who  never   invited  himself.     Indeed,  his 
habit  was  one   of  apprehensive  self-sup- 
pression;    except  in   the    battle-field,  he 
was  nervously  afraid  of  being  de  trop. 


/ 


lasantly,  as 

with    her 

but  in  a 
ommunica- 
newspaper. 
:  opened  it 
3W.  There 
this  action, 
ts  were  in 
way  embar- 

if  she  did 
;e  that  she 
;r.  During 
anxiety  visi- 
:e  of  these 
ipted  to  re- 
Df  Theodore 
le  carefully 
his  unusual 
t  was  a  man 

Indeed,  his 
iive  self-sup- 
ittle-field,  he 
de  trop. 


Wyl's  Hall 


187 


While  the  table  was  being  cleared 
Brcnda  left  the  room  on  some  small  cr- 
rand,  and  Mrs.  Wylie  literally  pounced 
upon  the  newspaper  the  moment  the  door 
was  closed.  With  practised  hand  and  eye 
she  sought  the  column  containing  foreign 
intelligence.  Eagerly  she  scanned  the 
closely-printed  lines,  but  disappointment 
was  the  evident  result. 

"Not  a  word,"  she  reflected  —  "not  a 
word.  But  perhaps  that  is  all  the  worse. 
Theo  is  coming  down  here  for  some  spe- 
cific reason,  I  am  sure.  Either  to  say 
good-bye  or  ...  or  for  something  else. 
War  —  war  —  war  I     I  feel  it  in  the  air ! " 

And  the  good  lady  stood  there  in  the 
bow-window  gazing  through  the  rime- 
shaded  panes  away  across  the  moor,  over 
the  green  and  mournful  sea.  Her  clever 
gray  eyes  were  half-closed,  owing  to  a 
peculiar  contraction  of  the  eyelids  —  a 
little  habit  she  indulged  in  when  thinking 
in  her  brave  cheery  way  of  those  things, 
which  women  have  greater  leisure  to 
meditate  over  than  men  —  of  the  happi- 


i88 


Su&penG 


ness  and  the  great  joy  we  seem  ever  P.oout 
to  grasp,  and  which  with  melancholy  m- 
variability  slips  through  our  earthly  fin- 
gers,  fades  from  our  earthly  eyes. 

Unconsciously  she  was  looking  away 
towards  the  east,  to  those  mysterious  lands, 
whence  so  many  chapters  of  the  world  s 
history  have  been  drawn. 


:''*'• 
'»    ^ 


/ 


I  ever  about 
lanrholy  in- 
earthly  fin- 


es. 


oking  away 

erious  lands, 

the  world's 


Diplomacy 


189 


CHAPTER   XVI 

DIPLOMACY 

IT  happened  that  there  were  some  warm 
balmy  days  towards  the  end  of  March, 
and  on  one  of  these  Theodore  Trist  ar- 
rived at  Wyvenwich.  Mrs.  Wylie  and 
Brenda  were  on  the  little  platform  to 
meet  him,  and  the  elder  lady,  in  her 
practical  way,  noted  the  lightness  of  his 
baggage  and  drew  her  own  conclusions. 

They  walked  to  Wyl's  Hall  through 
the  High  Street  of  the  little  town,  down 
towards  the  sea,  up  a  steep  path  on  the 
cliff,  and  finally  across  the  moor.  All 
green  things  were  budding,  tender  shoots 
and  bold  weeds  alike.  Overhead  the 
larks  were  singing  in  glad  chorus.  Side 
by  side  the  three  friends  walked,  and 
talked  of  .  .  •  the  weather. 

"  Spring  is  upon  us  again,"  Mrs.  Wylie 
had  said  during  the  first  pause. 


V, 


ii 


I  no  Suspense 

"Yes,"  answered  Trist;  "this  weather 
always  makes  me  restless." 

"  More  so  than  usual ?  "inquired  Brenda. 

Trist  looked  at  her  sideways. 

"Yes"  he  murmured,  "more  so  than 
usual.  I  suppose  a  new  fund  of  energy 
creeps  into  my  somnolent  being." 

"  Do  you  really  believe,"  inquired  Mrs. 
Wylie,  with  great  interest,  "that  the 
weather  has   so  much    effect   upon  one 

as  that?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  >  There  is  no  denying 
the  fact  that  in  the  springtime,  when  all 
things  are  beginning  to  grow,  men  grow 
energetic.  If  they  be  working,  they  work 
harder;  fighting,  fight  harder;  playing, 
play  harder.  The  majority  of  events 
happen  in  the  first  six  months  of  the 
year." 

"So  the  unexpected  may  be  expected 
before  July,"  suggested  Mrs.  Wylie 
quietly. 

"  That  may  be  expected  at  all  times." 

Thus  they  talked  on  in  vague  com- 
monplaces,   not    entirely    devoid     of    a 


•  I 


s  weather 

2d  Brenda. 

e  so  than 
of  energy 

uired  Mrs. 

"that    the 

upon  one 

10  denying 
;,  when  all 

men  grow 
they  work 

r;  playing, 
of   events 

ths  of   the 

le  expected 
[rs.     Wylie 

11  times." 
/ague  corn- 
void     of    a 


Diplomacy 


191 


second  meaning  perhaps.    Brenda  scarcely 
joined  in  the  conversation.    It  was  enough 
for  her  to  listen  to  these  two  strangely 
assorted  friends,  who  seemed  to  her  ana- 
lytical mind  to  be  rather  different  in  each 
other's  company  than   they  were  before 
the  rest  of  the  world.     She  never  quite 
lost  her  youthful  habit  of  studying  human 
minds  — picking  them  to  pieces,  dissect- 
ing them,  assigning  motives,  seeking  rea- 
sons—  and  her  belief  in  the  influence  of 
one  will  over  another  (even  at  a  distance) 
was  singularly  strong.    She  was  pleased 
to    consider    that*  Theodore   Trist    and 
Mrs.  Wylie  possessed  some  hidden  sym- 
pathies in  common  beyond  the  mere  ties 
of   friendship;    and   it  is    probable  that 
she  gained  some  instruction  and  perhaps 
a  little  benefit  in   watching  their  inter- 
course.   Certain  it  is  that  each  in  turn 
spoke   to  the   other  as  he  or  she  spoke 
to  no  one  else.     Each  possessed  a  power 
of  bringing  out  certain  qualities  in  the 
other,   which   power  was   unique.      And 
so  Brenda,  who  was  at  no  time  a  talka- 


192 


Suspense 


tive  woman,  listened  in  silence  as  they 
walked  home  to  Wyl's  Hall  across  the 
deserted  moor. 

When  they  had  reached  the  house  the 
girl  went  upstairs  to  remove  her  hat  and 
jacket,  leaving  her  two  companions  to- 
gether in  the  library.  This  was  a  good- 
sized  room,  with  a  broad  old-fashioned 
bow-window,  of  which  even  the  panes 
of  glass  were  curved,  while  all  round  it 
there  was  a  low  window-seat.  In  the 
broad  fireplace  some  logs  of  driftwood 
burnt  slowly  and  silently,  with  a  steady 
glow  of  heat,  as  only  driftwood  burns. 

Trist  went  straight  to  the  window  and 
stood  in  the  centre  of  it,  with  his  strong 
lean  hands  hanging  idly.  His  eyes  were 
soft  and  meek  and  dreamy  as  ever,  while 
his  limbs  seemed  full  of  strength  and 
energy.     The  old  incongruity  was  still 

apparent. 

Mrs.  Wylie  followed  him,  and  seated 
herse'if  by  the  window  at  the  end  of  the 
bow,  so  that  the  man's  profile  was  visible 
to  her.     Thus   they  remained   for  some 


/ 


!   as   they 
icross   the 

house  the 
r  hat  and 
inions  to- 
is  a  good- 
-fashioned 
the   panes 
I  round  it 
t.     In    the 
driftwood 
1  a  steady 
burns, 
'indow  and 
his  strong 
eyes  were 
ever,  while 
ength   and 
y   was   still 

and  seated 
end  of  the 
was  visible 
I   for  some 


Diplomacy 


193 


seconds;  then  he  turned  with  grave  de- 
liberation and  met  her  steady  gaze. 

"  Well  .  .  .  ? "  she  inquired. 

"  Well  .  .  .  ? "  he  reiterated. 

"  How  long  are  you  going  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Till  Monday." 

"  This  being  Friday  .  .  ." 

He  signified  assent  and  turned  away 
again. 

"  Why  have  you  come  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Wylie  abruptly,  after  a  short  pause. 

This  time  he  avoided  meeting  her  eyes 
by  the  simple  expedient  of  staring  out  of 
the  window. 

"  I  do  not  know  .  .  ."  he  replied,  with 
som«  hesitatior;. 

"  Yes  .  .  .  you  do !  " 

He  wheeled  round  upon  his  heels  and 
looked  down  at  her  with  an  aggravatingly 
gentle  smile. 

"  Yes,  Theo,  you  do !     Why  have  you 

come  ? " 

"May  I  not  be  allowed,"  he  asked 
lightly,  •'  a  certain  desire  to  see  you  and 
.  .  .  Brenda?" 

»3 


194 


Suspense 


"You  may,"  she  replied;  "but  that  is 
not  the  reason  of  your  coming." 

She  settled  herself  more  comfortably 
on  the  window-seat,  laid  aside  her  muff, 
loosened  her  jacket,  and  composed  her- 
self to  a  long  wait  with  a  cheery  deter- 
mination eminently  characteristic. 

"  In  the  spring  ..."  he  began,  in  a 
patient  voice  which  seemed  to  contain 
the  promise  of  a  long  story. 

"  The  young  man's  fancy  .  .  ."  contin- 
ued Mrs.  Wylie. 

"Lightly  turns,"  he  said  gravely,  tak- 
ing up  the  thread,  "to  thoughts  of  .  .  . 
war." 

At  the  last  word  he  lowered  his  voice 
suddenly,  and  turned  upon  her  as  if  to 
see  its  effect.  She  merely  raised  her  eye- 
brows and  looked  at  him  speculatively. 
At  last  she  gave  a  little  nod  of  the  head, 
signifyi  ,ig  comprehension. 

"  Then  you  have  come  to  say —  good- 
bye?" 

Here  her  voice  failed  a  little.  With 
care   she  could  have  prevented  such  an 


but  that  is 

;omfortably 
:  her  muff, 
posed  her- 
eery  deter- 
:ic. 

egan,  in  a 
to  contain 

.  ."  contin- 

•avely,  tak- 
hts  of  .  .  . 

i  his  voice 
er  as  if  to 
ed  her  eye- 
eculatively. 
if  the  head, 

;ay —  good- 
tie.  With 
;d  such  an 


Diplomacy 


195 


occurrence ;  but  perhaps  she  spoke  a  trifle- 
recklessly —  perhaps  she  did  not  care  to 
conceal  the  feeling  which  was  betrayed 
by  that  passing  break  in  her  mellow  sym- 
pathetic tones.  When  it  was  too  late,  she 
closed  her  lips  with  a  small  snap  of  de- 
termination, and  looked  up  at  him  smiling 
defiantly. 

"  Not  necessarily,"  he  replied  coolly. 
"  It  may  mean  that ;  or,  at  least,  it  may 
mean  that  I  am  summoned  away  at  such 
short  notice  that  there  will  be  no  oppor- 
tunity of  coming  again.  Personally,  I 
should  prefer  it  to  be  so.  The  pastime 
of  saying  good-bye  may  possess  a  certain 
sentimental  value,  but  it  is  a  weakness 
which  is  best  avoided." 

Mrs.  Wylie  continued  to  watch  the 
young  man's  face  with  speculative  criti- 
cism. It  is  just  possible  that  she  sus- 
pected him  of  talking  nonsense,  as  it 
were,  against  time  or  against  himself. 

"Is  your  information  of  a  general  de- 
scription, or  have  you  certain  advice  that 
war  is  imminent  ?  " 


196 


Suspense 


1 


Trist  smiled  almost  apologetically  as 
he  replied,  with  caution; 

•'  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  there  will 
be  a  big  war  before  the  summer." 

"  Turkey  and  Russia,  of  course?  " 

"  Yes." 

»  And  you  go  with  Turkey,  I  suppose? 

"Yes." 

"The  losing  side  again?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Wylie  diplomatically. 

"Probably;  but  not  without  a  good 
fight  for  it.  It  wiH  not  be  such  an  easy 
matter  as  the  Russians  imagine." 

"Where  shall  you  be?"  asked  the  per- 
sistent lady.     "At  Constantinople  or  .  .  ." 

"  At  the  front!  "  said  Trist. 

The  widow  turned  aside  and  looked 
out  of  the  window.  Across  the  moor, 
on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  a  coast-guards- 
man  was  pacing  backwards  and  forwards 
with  a  measured  tread  acquired  at  sea, 
and  from  the  window  they  watched  him 
in  a  mechanical,  semi-interested  way. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said   Mrs.  Wylie  at 
length,  in  a  half-shamefaced  way,  "  I  be- 


/ 


Diplomacy 


197 


etically   as 
t  there  will 

se?" 

:  suppose?" 

"    inquired 

»ut  a  good 
ach  an  easy 

:ed  the  per- 
ple  or  .  .  ." 

and  looked 
i  the  moor, 
;oast-guards- 
nd  forwards 
ired  at  sea, 
matched  him 
;d  way. 
s.  Wylie  at 
way,  "  I  be- 


lieve I  am  beginning  to  lose  my  nerve. 
Is  it  a  foretaste  of  approaching  old  age  ? 
I  really  believe  I  am  going  to  be  anxious 
about  you." 

Her  semi-bantering  tone  justified  Trist's 
easy  laugh.  He  took  it  for  granted  that 
Mrs.  Wylie  was  not  speaking  seriously. 

"You  must  not  allow  yourself,"  he 
expostulated,  "to  get  into  bad  habits  of 
that  sort." 

"  Still,"  argued  the  widow  in  the  same 
tone,  "  I  do  not  see  why  you  should  be 
free  from  the  restraining  and  salutary 
feeling  that  there  is  some  one  waiting  for 
you  at  home." 

It.  was  hard  to  tell  whether  Mrs.  Wylie 
meant  more  than  the  mere  words  con- 
veyed or  no.  Trist  seemed  to  hesitate 
before  replying. 

"  I  am  never  free  from  that  —  but  it  is 
not  necessary;  my  foolhardy  days  are 
over." 

"  And  this  is  to  be  the  last  time?"  said 
Mrs.  Wylie,  consoling  herself. 

«Yes.     The  last  time!" 


Suspense 

There  was  a  strange,  hard  ring  in  the 
wanderer's  tone  as  he  echoed  the  fore- 
boding words  and  turned  gravely  away. 
The  sound  seemed  to  strike  some  sym- 
pathetic chord  in  the  lady's  heart,  for  she. 
too,  looked  almost  mournful. 

"  I  would  give  a  good  deal  to  have  you 
safe  back  again,"  murmured  Mrs.  Wylie 
in  an  undertone.  The  remark  was  hardly 
addressed  to  him,  and  he  allowed  it  to 
pass  unnoticed.  Presently,  however,  he 
turned  and  looked  ijito  her  face  with  some 
anxiety  depicted  on  his  calm  features. 
Then   he  took  a  step  or  two  nearer  to 

her.  . ,  , 

"This  will  never  do,"  he  said  gravely, 
standing  in  front  of  her  with  his  strong 
hands  clenched. 

She  gave  rather  a  lame  little  laugh,  and 
looked  up  with  a  deprecating  glance. 

"  Theo,  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  so  plucky 
as  I  used  to  be.  My  nerve  is  gone.  I 
think  I  left  it  ...  at  Fjaerholm." 

He  made  no  reply,  but  merely  stood 
by  her  in  his  silent  manliness,  and  from 


Dipl 


omacM 


199 


ng  in  the 
the  forc- 
vely  away, 
iome  sym- 
,rt,  for  she, 

3  have  you 
^rs.  Wylie 
was  hardly 
owed  it  to 
owever,  he 
;  with  some 
n  features. 
)  nearer  to 

aid  gravely, 
his  strong 

z  laugh,  and 
glance, 
at  so  plucky 
is  gone.     I 
Im." 

lerely  stood 
}S,  and  from 


his  presence  she  somehow  gathered  com- 
fort, as  women  do.  Although  wc  be  of 
coarser  fibre,  failing  to  grasp  the  hidden 
pathos  of  everyday  life  —  the  little  trials, 
the  petty  sorrows ;  failing  often  to  divine 
the  motives  that  grow  out  of  a  finer,  truer, 
nobler  nature  than  ours,  and  always  fail- 
ing to  appreciate  the  unselfishness  of  wo- 
man's love  —  despite  all  these,  our  pres- 
ence is  at  times  a  comfort  because  of  the 
greater  strength  that  does  or  should  lie 
within  us. 

No  reference  had  hitherto  been  made 
between  Mrs.  Wylie  and  Trist  to  the 
events  attending  the  last  voyage  of  the 
Hermione.  A  year  had  not  yet  elapsed, 
and  the  Admiral's  name  was  still  avoided. 
Trist  was  of  a  sympathetic  nature,  al- 
though he  evinced  some  contempt  for 
death  itself,  which  was  a  mere  matter  of 
familiarity;  and  it  was  his  creed  that 
things  and  names  which  cause  a  pang  of 
sorrow  are  best  left  in  oblivion.  Mrs. 
Wylie  was  outwardly  little  changed,  but 
he  knew  that  the  wound  was  by  no  means 


200  Suspense 

healed,  and  he  had,  therefore,  allowed  all 

recollection  of   the  Hermioms  sorrowful 

voyage   to  die   from    his    memory.      No 

doubt  the  great  healer  Time  would   do 

for  Mrs.  Wylie  what  he  has  done  for  us  all 

since  the  days  of  Adam  —  but  it  was  too 

soon  yet.     In  the  annals  of  sorrow  a  year 

is  no  long  period.     It  is  a  pity  that  the 

effect  of  joy  is  so  short-lived,  while  sorrow 

holds  its  own  so  long.      There   are   so 

many  varieties  of  sorrow  that  by  the  time 

we  have  tasted  most  of  them   and   have 

become  accustomed  to  the  flavour,  life 

itself  is  at  an  end,  and  we  have  had  no 

time  to  enjoy  its  pleasures  by  reason  of 

the  years  spent  in  wrestling  with  woe. 

Theo  Trist  held  his  peace  sympatheti- 
cally and  yet  without  encouragement. 
Mrs.  Wylie  no  doubt  understood  his  mo- 
tive, for  they  possessed  in  common  that 
desire  of  concealing  the  seamy  side  which 
Brenda  had  characterized  as  cowardly.  In 
her  courage  she  seemed  to  take  a  pride 
in  facing  untoward  things  —  indeed,  she 
sought   them;  while  these  two,   in   their 


/ 


11  owed  all 
sorrowful 


ory. 


No 


would   do 
:  for  us  all 
it  was  too 
row  a  year 
^  that  the 
lile  sorrow 
re   are   so 
y  the  time 
and   have 
avour,  life 
ve  had  no 
reason  of 
h  woe. 
ympatheti- 
uragement. 
od  hia  mo- 
nmon  that 
side  which 
wardly.    In 
ke  a  pride 
indeed,  she 
o,   in   their 


Diplomacy 


201 


greater  experience,  slurred  them  over  as  a 
clever  painter  slurs  over  certain  acces- 
sories in  his  picture,  in  order  that  the 
brighter  objects  may  stand  more  firmly  on 
the  face  of  the  canvass. 

"  Nevertheless,"  he  said  more  cheerily, 
returning  to  the  original  question,  "you 
are  the  pluckiest  woman  I  have  ever  met ! 
You  must  not  give  way  to  this  habit  of 
anxiety,  for  it  is  nothing  but  a  habit  —  a 
sort  of  moral  cowardice.  It  serves  no 
purpose.  An  over-anxious  man  misses 
his  opportunities  by  moving  too  soon ;  an 
over-anxious  woman  has  no  peace  in  life, 
because  she  can  do  nothing  but  watch." 

Mrs.  Wylie  laughed  pleasantly. 

"  No  I "  she  exclaimed,  with  determina- 
tion. "  It  is  all  right,  Theo ;  I  will  not 
give  way  to  it.  My  anxiety  is  only  anti- 
cipatory; when  the  moment  comes  I  am 
generally  up  to  the  mark." 

With  a  brave  smile  she  nodded  to  him 
and  moved  towards  the  door,  carrying  her 
gloves  and  muff.  He  followed  in  order  to 
open  the  door,  for  he  had  some  strange. 


202  Suspense 

old-fashioned  notions  of  politeness  which 

promise  to  become  fossilized   before  the 

end  of  the  century. 

"  Will  it  be  a  long  war  ? "  she  asked, 

before  passing  out  of  the  room. 

He  answered  without  deliberation,  as  if 

he  had  already  pondered  over  the  question 

at  leisure  with  a  decisive  result. 

»  I  think  so.     It  will  go  on  all  through 
the  summer  and  autumn.     As  things  get 
worse,  Turkey  will  probably  pull   herself 
together.     It  is  a  way  she  has.     It  may 
even  continue  actively  right  on  into  the 
winter.     The  Turks   will  be  on   the   de- 
fensive, which   suits  them  exactly.     Put 
a  Turk  into  a  trench  with  a  packet  of 
cigarettes,  a  little  food,  a  rifle,  and  a  sack- 
ful of  cartridges,  and  it  will  take  a  con- 
siderable number  of  Russians  to  get  him 

out." 

"I  hope  it  will  not  extend  into  the 
winter,"  said  Mrs.  Wylie,  as  she  left  the 
room. 

«  So  do  I." 

He  closed  the  door  and  walked  slowly 


/ 


ta 


'-"•'■■■'  ■ 


Diplomacy 


203 


less  which 
Dcfore  the 

she  asked, 
J. 

ation,  as  if 
le  question 

all  through 
things  get 
lull   herself 
s.     It  may 
m  into  the 
)n   the   de- 
actly.     Put 
,  packet  of 
and  a  sack- 
take  a  con- 
to  get  him 


back  towards  the  bow-window.  There  he 
stood  staring  out  with  eyes  that  saw  but 
understood  not,  for  many  minutes. 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure,"  he  muttered  at 
last,  "  that  I  have  done  a  wise  thing  in 
coming  to  Wyl's  Halll" 


id  into   the 
she  left  the 


liked  slowly 


204 


Suspense 


CHAPTER  XVII 
good-bye! 

IN  the  course  of  a  few  hours  Theodore 
Trist  was  quite  at  home  at  Wyl's 
Hall.     These  three  people  had  lived  to- 
gether before,  and  knew  each  other's  ways. 
Mrs.  Wylie,  the  personification  of  com- 
fort—Theo  Trist,  possessing  no  real  com- 
prehension of  the  word  —  Brenda,  midway 
between  them,  with  a  youthful  faculty  for 
adapting  herself  to  either.     The   narrow 
limits   of  a   ship  soon   break  down  the 
smaller  social  barriers,  and  the  memory  of 
life  on  board  the  Hermione  knitted  the 
inmates  of   Wyl's    Hall   in   a  close  and 
pleasant  familiarity.     At  times,  indeed,  the 
union  of  the  three  around  the  fireside  or 
at  table  seemed  to  emphasize  the  absence 
of    the  fourth,   to   suggest    the   vacancy 
caused  by  the  stillness  of  a  pleasant  voice, 
the  absence  of  a  fine  old  face.    But  this 


Good-bye ! 


205 


slight  shadow  was  not  unpleasant,  because 
it  had  no  great  contrast  to  show  it  up. 
None  of  the  three  was  hilarious,  but  there 
was  a  pleasant  sociability,  which  for  every- 
day use  is  superior  to  the  most  brilliant 
flashes  of  wit. 

Very  soon  the  old,  semi-serious  style  of 
conversation  found  place  again.  Brenda 
fell  into  her  former  habit  of  listening  (too 
silentl}',  perhaps)  to  Mrs.  Wylie  and  Theo, 
accusing  them  at  times  of  cynicism  and 
worldliness.  Old  questions  came  to  life 
again  —  unfinished  discussions  were  re- 
newed. Everything  seemed  to  suggest 
the  Hermione. 

Again  and  again  Mrs.  Wylie  found  her- 
self watching  the  two  young  people  thus 
thrown  together,  and  on  each  occasion 
she  remembered  how  she  had  watched 
them  before  to  no  purpose.  Since  the 
pleasant  summer  days  spent  in  the  Heim- 
dalfjord  many  incidents  had  come  with 
their  petty  influences,  and  yet  these  two 
were  in  no  way  altered  towards  each 
other.     One  great  difference  was  ever  be- 


206 


Suspense 


fore  her  eyes,  and  yet  she  could  not  detect 
its  result.  Alice  Huston  was  now  a  free 
woman,  and  if  Trist  loved  her,  there  was 
no  reason  why  he  should  not  win  her  in 
the  end ;  indeed,  there  was  great  cause  to 
suppose  that  the  matter  should  be  easy  to 
him.  And  yet  there  was  no  change  in 
his  manner  towards  the  girl  who,  in  all 
human  probability,  was  destined  to  be 
his  sister-in-law.  The  old  half-chivalrous, 
half. brotherly  way  of  addressing  her  and 
listening  to  her  reply  was  still  noticeable  ; 
and  it  puzzled  the  widow  greatly.  But 
Brenda  seemed  to  take  it  as  a  matter  of 
course.  This  man  was  different  to  all 
other  men  in  her  estimation ;  it  was  only 
natural  that  his  manner  towards  her 
should  be  unlike  that  of  others.  And 
now  a  subtle  change  took  place  in  Mrs. 
Wylie's  mind.  On  board  the  Hermione 
she  had  been  convinced  that  if  any  wo- 
man possessed  an  influence  over  Theo 
Trist,  that  woman  was  Alice  Huston. 
(The  widow  was  too  experienced,  too 
practical,    too    farsighted    to    attempt  a 


Good-bye ! 


207 


definition  of  this  fascination  exercised  by 
a  woman  of  inferior  intellect  over  a  man 
infinitely  her  superior  in  every  way.) 
Now  she  was  equally  sure  that  Trist  was 
moved  by  no  warmth  of  love  towards  the 
beautiful  young  widow  who  had  so  openly 
thrown  herself  in  his  path. 

One  trifling  alteration  seemed  to  pre- 
f  ant  itself  occasionally  to  the  good  lady's 
watchful  eyes,  and  this  was  a  well-hidden 
fear  of  being  left  alone  together.  Whether 
this  emanated  from  Theo  or  Brenda  it 
was  impossible  to  say,  but  its  presence 
was  unmistakable,  and,  moreover,  what- 
ever its  origin  may  have  been  it  was  now 
mutual.  At  one  time  they  had  possessed 
a  thousand  topics  of  common  interest,  and 
found  in  each  other's  conversation  an  un- 
failing pleasure.  Now  they  both  talked  to 
her,  using  her  almost  as  an  intermediary. 

On  the  Saturday  morning,  while  dress- 
ing, the  widow  meditated  over  these 
things,  and  in  the  afternoon  she  delib- 
erately sent  her  two  guests  out  for  a 
walk  together.     About  three  miles  down 


2o8 


Suspense 


the  coast,  in  the  very  centre  of  the  marsh 
lying  to  the  south  of  Mizzen  Heath 
Moor,  was  a  ruined  Hghthouse,  long  since 
superseded  by  a  lightship  riding  on  the 
newly-formed  sandbank  four  miles  off 
the  shore.  In  this  ruin  lived  an  old 
marshman,  in  whose  welfare  Mrs.  Wylie 
appeared  suddenly  to  have  taken  a  great 
interest.  For  him,  accordingly,  a  parcel 
was  made  up,  and  the  two  young  people 
were  despatched  immediately  after  lunch. 

Mention  has  already  been  made  of 
Mrs.  Wylie's  nervous  abhorrence  of  any 
interference  in  what  she  was  pleased  to 
consider  other  people's  affairs.  In  this 
matter  she  had  at  last  made  up  her 
mind  to  act,  because  she  loved  these  two 
as  her  own  children,  and  there  was  in 
her  kindly  heart  a  haunting  fear  that  they 
were  about  to  make  a  muddle  of  their 
lives. 

A  slight  haze  lay  over  the  land  as  the 
two  young  people  made  their  way  across 
the  moor  towards  the  coastguard-path  — 
a   narrow    footway  forever  changing   its 


Good-bve ! 


209 


devious  course  before  the  encroaching 
sea.  Before  their  eyes  lay  a  vast  plain, 
intersected  here  and  there  with  water- 
course or  sluice;  while  away  to  the 
southward  rose  a  blue  barrier  of  distant 
hill.  Inland,  the  meadows  were  green 
and  lush ;  while  nearer  to  the  sea  the 
grass  grew  sparsely,  and  there  were 
small  plots  of  sand  and  shingle  nourish- 
ing nought  but  unsightly  thistles. 

Already  the  clouds  were  freeing  them- 
selves from  winter  heaviness,  and  in  their 
manifold  combinations  there  was  that 
suggestion  of  still  distance  which  is  char- 
acteristic of  our  English  summer  days, 
and  has  its  equal  in  no  other  land,  over 
no  other  sea. 

The  yellow  sun  was  high  in  the 
heavens  with  nothing  more  formidable  to 
obstruct  its  rays  than  a  slight  shimmering 
haze.  The  air  was  light  and  balmy  — 
indeed,  in  earth  and  air  and  sea  there  was 
a  subtle  buoyancy  which  tells  of  coming 
spring,  and  creates  in  men's  hearts  a 
braver  contemplation   of  life. 

14 


U. 


!■; 


11 » 


2IO 


Suspense 


Mrs.  Wylie  watched  them  depart  with- 
out a  pang  of  remorse  or  a  sting  of  con- 
science. Indeed,  she  calculated  the  risk 
with  equanimity. 

"  I  think,"  she  reflected,  "  that  this  walk 
to  the  old  lighthouse  will  be  one  of  those 
trifling  incidents  which  seem  to  remain 
engraved  in  our  hearts  long  after  the 
memory  of  greater  events  has  passed 
away.  They  are  both  self-contained  and 
resolute,  but  no  human  being  is  quite 
beyond  the  influence  o(  outward  things." 

For  some  time  the  two  young  people 
spoke  in  a  scrappy  way,  of  indifferent 
topics.  The  narrow  path  only  allowed 
one  to  pass  at  a  time,  and  the  moor  was 
so  broken  that  progression  at  the  side  of 
the  path  was  almost  impossible.  After, 
however,  the  Mizzen  Heath  Coastguard 
Station  had  been  left  behind,  and  the 
precipitous  slope  descended,  the  sea-wall 
afforded  better  walking,  and  the  conver- 
sation assumed  a  more  personal  vein. 

"Tell  me,"  said  Brenda  pleasantly, 
"your  plans  in  case  of  war!     We  know 


Good-bye ! 


211 


absolutely  nothing  of  your  proposed  move- 
ments." 

"  I  know  nothing  myself,  except  in  a 
very  general  way.  Of  course,  we  shall 
be  guided  by  circumstances." 

"We  .  .  .  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  ^ake  two  men  with  me.  The 
campaign  will  be  on  too  large  a  scale  for 
one  man  to  watch  unaided.  These  two 
act  as  my  lieutenants.  I  have  chosen 
them  myself.  One  is  a  future  baronet 
with  a  taste  for  sport  and  literature,  which 
is  a  rare  combination.  The  other  is  a 
soldier,  twenty-five  years  older  than  my- 
self. We  shall  be  a  funny  trio;  but  I 
thmk  it  will  be  a  success,  for  we  mean 
to  make  it  one.  The  two  men  are  full 
of  energy  and  as  hard  as  nails.  Our 
plans  are  almost  as  voluminous  and  as 
comprehensive  as  Moltke's.  It  will  be 
a  great  war,  and  we  intend  our  history 
of  it  to  be  the  only  one  wDrth  reading. 
The  old  soldier  is  a  Frenchman,  so  we 
shall  tell  our  story  in  two  languages 
simultaneously." 


IJ 


!< 


a 


II 


212 


Suspense 


"  And  where  will  it  be  —  where  will  the 
battles  be  fought?" 

"It  is  hard  to  say,  because  so  much 
depends  upon  the  apathy  of  the  Turks. 
They  will  probably  allow  them  to  cross 
the  Danube  before  making  an  effort  to 
stop  them,  and  the  thick  of  it  may  be  in 
liulgaria  again.  I  shall  be  at  the  Danube 
to  see  the  Russians  cross — probably  at 
GaUitz.  There  are  small  towns  south  of 
the  Danube  of  which  the  names  will  be 
historical  by  this  timejiext  year,  and  in 
all  probability  there  are  men  who  will 
have  immortalized  themselves  before  then, 
although  they  are  quite  unknown  now. 
War  is  the  path  by  which  the  world 
progresses." 

"  I  suppose  the  younger  Skobeleff  will 
do  something  wonderful.  I  know  your 
admiration  for  him." 

"  Yes.  If  he  does  not  get  killed  before 
he  is  across  the  Danube.  As  a  leader  I 
admire  him,  but  not  as  a  strategist.  There 
are  other  men  I  know  of  also  who  will  come 
to  the  front,  but  in  the  Turkish  army  indi- 


Good-bye  I 


213 


viduality  is  more  important  than  in  the 
Russian.  The  lower  the  standard  of  dis- 
cipline the  higher  is  the  power  of  personal 
influence  over  an  army.  The  Turks  de- 
pend entirely  upon  the  individual  capa- 
bilities of  a  few  men  —  Suleiman,  Osman, 
Tefik,  and  a  few  others." 

Brenda  was  not  listening  with  the  at- 
tention she  usually  accorded  to  Theodore 
Trist,  whatever  the  subject  of  his  dis- 
course might  happen  to  be,  and  he  knew 
it.  She  had  a  strange  trick  of  lapsing 
into  a  stony  silence  at  odd  moments,  and 
he  rarely  failed  to  detect  the  slight  differ- 
ence. Such  fits  of  absorption  were  usu- 
ally "followed  by  the  raising  of  some  deep 
abstract  question,  or  an  opinion  of  per- 
sonal bearing.  It  may  have  been  mere 
chance  that  caused  him  to  cease  some- 
what abruptly,  and  continue  walking  by 
her  side  in  silence ;  or  it  is  possible  that 
he  knew  her  humours  as  few  people  knew 
them.  The  question  of  a  Russo-Turkish 
War  had  suddenly  lost  all  interest,  and  he 
might  as  well  have  told  his  opinion  to  the 


I 


! 


1 
1 


u 


214 


Suspense 


winds  as  to  this  girl,  who  had,  a  moment 
earlier,  been  a  most  intelligent  listener. 

For  some  time  they  walked  on  without 
speaking.  The  soft  turf  of  the  so-called 
sea-wall,  which  was  nothing  else  than  an 
embankment,  gave  forth  no  sound  beneath 
their  feet.  The  tide  was  out,  and  the  day 
being  still,  there  came  to  their  ears  only 
a  soft,  murmuring,  continuous  song  from 
the  little  waves. 

At  last  Brenda  turned  a  little  and  looked 
at  him  in  her  thoughtful,  analytical  way, 
as  if  to  read  on  his  features  an  answer  to 
some  question  which  had  arisen  in  her 
mind. 

"  Yes,"  said  Trist,  smiling  at  her  gently. 
"  Go  on.  You  are  about  to  propound  one 
of  those  very  deep  theories  which  invari- 
ably suggest  themselves  to  you  in  the 
middle  of  my  most  interesting  obser- 
vations." 

She  laughed  rather  guiltily  as  she  shook 
her  head  in  denial. 

"  No.  ...  I  was  only  .  .  .  wondering." 

"Wondering ?"  he  repeated  inter- 


moment 
tener. 
I  without 
so-called 
than  an 
beneath 
i  the  day 
;ars  only 
»ng  from 

id  looked 
ical  way, 
inswer  to 
n  in  her 

ir  gently. 
)und  one 
h  invari- 
I  in  the 
5    obser- 

be  shook 

idering." 
ed  inter- 


Good-byc (  215 

rogatively,  but  she  omitted  to  answer  his 
implied  question,  and  he  did  not  press  it. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  after  a  little 
pause,  "  that  you  are  the  greatest  puzzle  I 
have  ever  come  across  ? " 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  murmured,  with  mock 
humility. 

•'  Oh,  don't  apologize !  I  dare  say  it  is 
entirely  unintentional.  What  I  cannot 
understand  is  your  nonchalant  way  of 
talking  of  certain  things.  For  instance, 
nothing  seems  to  be  farther  from  your 
thoughts  at  this  moment  than  the  possi- 
bility of  your  being  .  .  .  killed." 

He  chipped  off  the  head  of  a  withered 
thistle  with  his  stick  before  replying  in  a 
low,  steady  voice,  very  deliberately : 

"  And  yet  nothing  is  nearer  to  them." 

"  That  is  what  I  cannot  understand. 
I  think  women  look  farther  ahead.  They 
seem  to  have  the  power  of  realizing  at 
the  beginning  what  the  end  may  be  — 
realizing  it  more  fully  than  men,  I  mean." 

"  I  doubt  it  I  "  he  answered.  "  I  have 
to  make  two  sets  of  arrangements,   two 


1! 


2l6 


Suspense 


sets  of  plans.  One  takes  it  for  granted 
that  I  shall  come  through  it  all  safely, 
the  other  goes  upon  the  theory  that  I 
shall  be  killed.  Each  is  complete  in  itself, 
independent  of  its  companion.  When  I 
say  that  I  v/ill  do  something  at  a  certain 
time,  or  be  in  a  certain  place,  there  is  a 
'  D.  V.'  understood,  hidden  between  the 
lines.  Everything  is  of  course  '  Deo  vol- 
ente,'  but  you  would  not  have  me  drag  it 
in  obtrusively." 

"  No  .  .  ;  naturally  >jiot.  But  what  I 
cannot  understand  is  your  power  of  facing 
the  two  possibilities  —  or,  at  the  least,  the 
latter  —  with  apparent  indifference.  Is 
that  the  difference  that  exists  between 
the  courage  of  a  man  and  that  of  a 
woman  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  replied,  looking  at  her  very 
gravely,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  which 
gave  weight  to  words  of  apparently  small 
importance  ;  "  I  think  not,  for  women  face 
possibilities  and  even  certainties  with 
equal  pluck.  It  requires  as  much  cour- 
age  to   remain  at  home  and  wait  as  it 


'"MhMS  AJt  TKHWI'^hd^i-. 


t'KliwWIi  »li 


"7?- 


■t,'.l 


'or  granted 

all  safely, 

:ory  that  I 

;te  in  itself, 

.     When  I 

t  a  certain 

there  is  a 

jtween   the 

2  '  Deo  vol- 

me  drag  it 

ut  what  I 
ir  of  facing 
le  least,  the 
rence.  Is 
ts  between 
that  of   a 

it  her  very 
one  which 
ently  small 
vomen  face 
nties  with 
luch  cour- 
wait  as  it 


Good-bye ! 


217 


does  to  go  out  and  face  the  danger,  for 
danger  is  never  so  unpleasant  as  the  an- 
ticipation of  it." 

She  remembered  these  words  afterwards, 
and  recognized  then  the  fuller  sense  he 
had  intended  them  to  convey.  In  the 
meantime,  however,  she  held  to  her  point. 

"  It  is  not  exactly  in  that  way  that  I 
mean,"  she  murmured  slowly.  "  Not  from 
a  question  of  personal  bravery  at  all.  I 
meant  .  .  ." 

She  hesitated  in  embarrassment,  and  he 
hastened  to  remove  it. 

"Yes  — goon." 

"  I  was  wondering  whether  you  ever 
looked  at  it  from  a  religious  point  of 
view." 

He  did  not  reply  at  once,  and  in  some 
way  the  pause  gave  a  greater  gravity  to 
words. 

"  Yes,  Brenda.  You  must  not  think 
that.  Every  man  has  his  religion,  and  I 
have  mine.  It  may  consist  in  faith  more 
than  in  works,  perhaps,  but  it  is  there, 
nevertheless." 


2l8 


Suspense 


"  But  you  are  half  a  fatalist." 

"  In  some  degree  I  am,  but  J  do  not 
go  so  far  as  to  say  that  nothing  matters. 
Everything  matters !  We  are  intended  to 
do  our  best,  to  make  the  best  of  our 
lives ;  but  there  is  undoubtedly  a  scheme 
which  is  beyond  our  reach  and  far  above 
our  petty  influence  or  endeavour." 

Brenda  was  no  mean  theoiogist,  and 
she  now  set  to  work  to  demolish  Trist's 
system  of  fatalism,  while  half  leaning 
towards  it  herself.  Somewhat  to  her 
surprise  she  found  Ihat  his  knowledge 
upon  certain  points  was  equal  to  her  own, 
and  in  some  cases  superior ;  his  acquaint- 
ance with  Eastern  lore  and  Oriental  creeds 
was  quite  beyond  her  depth. 

In  this  manner  they  reached  the  light- 
house, passed  a  few  minutes  with  its  soli- 
tary inmate,  and  set  oflf  homewards  again 
across  the  marsh.  Mrs.  Wylie  would, 
perhaps,  have  been  surprised  could  she 
have  overheard  their  conversation,  which 
was  upon  very  different  topics  to  what 
she  had  expected. 


Good-bye 


219 


t  J  do  not 
ig  matters, 
intended  to 
est  of  our 
1  a  scheme 
i  far  above 
Dur." 

logist,  and 
ish  Trist's 
If  leaning 
it  to  her 
knowledge 
0  her  own, 
>  acquaint- 
nta!  creeds 

the  light- 
h  its  soli- 
irds  again 
lie  would, 
could  she 
on,  which 

to  what 


Before  they  reached  the  rising  ground 
at  the  edge  of  the  moor,  the  sun  was  low 
over  the  western  plain.  A  faint  mauve- 
coloured  haze  rose  from  the  damp  earth 
and  hovered  weirdly  among  the  pollarded 
oaks  and  rank  marsh  grasses.  The  whole 
scene  was  dismal,  and  the  distant  note  of 
a  jack-snipe  seemed  only  to  add  to  the 
lifelessness  of  the  land. 

As  they  passed  through  one  of  the 
swing-gates  on  the  sea-wall,  Brenda  turned 
her  head,  and  in  a  moment  the  character- 
istic beauty  of  the  sunset  caught  her 
attention. 

"  Look ! "  she  exclaimed  in  little  more 
than  a  whisper. 

He  obeyed,  closing  the  gate,  and  rest- 
ing his  arms  upon  it.  Thus  they  stood, 
side  by  side,  without  speaking.  She  in 
hei  pure  upright  maidenhood,  with  the 
sunset  glow  warming  her  refined  face 
with  a  hue  of  great  beauty,  for  her  eyes 
were  deep  and  pensive  as  woman's  eyes 
rarely  are,  while  her  lips  were  parted  with 
a  simple  faithful  wonderment  which  was 


1 


220 


Suspense 


almost  childlike.  He  rested  his  nrms 
r.pon  the  gray,  moss-grown  oak  of  the 
gate,  and  looked  upon  the  hopeless  scene 
with  meekly  contemplative  eyes.  His 
square  chin  was  thrust  forward,  and  the 
indescribable  incongruity  of  his  face  was 
absurdly  prominent.  There  was  a  great 
strength  and  a  wondrous  softness,  a 
mighty  courage  and  a  meek  resignation, 
an  indefatigable  energy  and  a  philosophic 
calm.  So  may  the  great  Buonaparte  have 
leant  his  arms  upon  ^on  low  wall  at  Saint 
Helena,  and  wondered  over  the  utter  in- 
comprehensibility of  human  existence. 

It  was  Brenda  who  at  last  broke  the 
silence,  without  moving  limb  or  muscle. 

"  So  you  are  going  on  Monday  ? " 

•'  Yes  ...  I  must." 

Something  in  his  voice  caused  her 
breath  to  come  quickly. 

"But  you  win  come  back?"  she  whis- 
pered almost  pleadingly. 

He  moved,  and  laid  his  strong  bare 
hand  over  the  small  gloved  fingers  resting 
on  the  gate. 


u_^ 


his  arms 
ak  of  the 
iless  scene 
yes.  His 
d,  and  the 
!s  face  was 
IS  a  great 
ioftness,  a 
esignation, 
)hilosophic 
iparte  have 
ill  at  Saint 
e  utter  in- 
stence. 

broke  the 
•  muscle, 
ay?" 

:aused    her 

'  she  whis- 

trong  bare 
jers  resting 


Good-bye ! 


221 


"  Yes.     I  will  come  back ! " 

Then  they  turned  and  walked  home 
in  silence. 

That  was  their  farewell.  They  never 
spoke  together  again  in  confidence  before 
he  left  on  the  Monday  morning.  There 
was,  indeed,  a  pressure  of  the  hand  and 
a  cheery  word  of  parting  on  the  little 
platform  of  Wyvenwich  Station ;  but  their 
two  souls  went  out  unto  each  other,  and 
stood  face  to  face  in  one  long  ecstasy  of 
parting  by  that  old  oaken  gate  upon  the 
sea-wall. 


^ 


id 


Hi 


222 


Suspense 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

AT   WORK 

OOME  have  wondered  why  blasphemy 
^  is  excusable  when  it  is  spoken  from 
a  throne.  It  seems  that  many  crimes 
have  been  deliberately  set  forth  upon 
paper  under  the  exculpating  heading  of, 
"In  the  name  of, God  — Amen.  We," 
etc.,  etc.  This  thought  cannot  well  escape 
suggestion  while  perusing  a  declaration  of 
war.  It  is  a  subterfuge  --  a  mean  attempt 
to  assign  the  responsibility  to  One  who  is 
mightier  than  princes  or  potentates.  God 
does  not  declare  war —  it  is  man. 

On  the  twenty-fourth  day  of  April, 
eighteen  hundred  and  seventy-seven,  the 
Czar  of  all  the  Russias  gave  forth  to  his 
people  that,  bowing  his  head  to  the  evident 
desire  of  the  Almighty,  he  reluctantly 
declared  war  against  the  Ottoman  Empire. 
There  was  much  rhetoric  about  Christian 


At  Work 


223 


II 


y  blasphemy 
spoken  from 
)any  crimes 
forth  upon 
heading  of, 
men.  We," 
t  well  escape 
;claration  of 
ean  attempt 
3ne  who  is 
tates.     God 

'  of  April, 
^-seven,  the 
Forth  to  his 
the  evident 
reluctantly 
an  Empire, 
t  Christian 


nations  suffering  beneath  the  lash  of 
Mohammedan  hatred;  stories  were  told 
of  shocking  cruelties  practised  upon  an 
oppressed  people,  coldly  worded  state- 
ments were  made  of  misgovernment,  mis- 
appropriation, theft.  And  the  remedy  to 
all  these  was,  if  it  may  please  you, 
war !  From  the  formal  declaration,  with 
its  Pharisaical  self-laudation,  its  rolling 
periods  and  mock  reluctance,  fourteen 
letters  might  have  been  selected,  and  set 
in  order  so  as  to  spell  a  single  word  in 
which  lay  the  explanation  of  it  all.  That 
word  was  —  "  Constantinople." 

Before  the  official  opening  of  hostilities, 
Russia  was  prepared,  and  Turkey  (despite 
a  long  warning)  but  half  ready,  as  usual. 
The  Russian  troops  entered  Roumania 
and  Turkish  Armenia  at  once,  the  inhabi- 
tants of  both  countries,  with  Oriental 
readiness,  receiving  them  as  deliverers. 
The  day  following  the  declaration  of  war 
saw  the  occupation  of  the  town  of  Galatz. 
Theodore  Trist  had,  as  he  told  Brenda 
he  intended,  taken  up  his  quarters  in  this 


-oHR 


F"J_!f.J«>1W" 


224 


Suspense 


small  town  upon  the  Danube,  anr!  actu- 
ally  passed  through  its  streets  in  the  midst 
of    the     Northern     troops     unsuspected. 
When  the  conquerors  had  shaken  down 
into  their  new  quarters,  and  military  dis- 
cipline was  beginning  to  make  itself  felt 
throughout  the  city,   he   discreetly  van- 
ished, and.  crossing  the  Danube  in  a  small 
boat  made  his  way  South.     At  this  time 
lingland  began  to  receive  the  benefit  of  a 
brilliantly  conceived  and  steadily  executed 
plan  of  transmitting  news.     Trist  and  his 
two  lieutenants  appeared  to  haunt  the  en- 
tirety  of  the  Ottoman   Empire.    One  of 
them  appeared  to  find  himself  invariably 
within  reach  of  any  spot  where  events  of 
interest  might  be  occurring.    And  from 
this  time  until  the  end  of  the  great  war 
this  ceaseless  flow  of  carefully-sifted   in- 
formation  continued  to  set  westward   to 
Fans    and    London.      The    first    official 
notice  taken  was  an  imperial  decree,  for- 
bidding the    admittance  into    Russia    of 
the  French  and  English  journals  to  which 
Inst  was  attached  as  war-correspondent 


L 


ifeHl 


At  Work 


225 


be,  anr!  actu- 
» in  the  midst 
unsuspected, 
ihaken  down 

military  dis- 
ke  itself  felt 
erectly  van- 
3e  in  a  small 
^t  this  time 

benefit  of  a 
ily  executed 
>ist  and  his 
lunt  the  en- 
e.  One  of 
f  invariably 
re  events  of 

And  from 
'■  great  war 
>^-sifted  in- 
Estward  to 
rst  official 
decree,  for- 
Russia  of 
s  to  which 
sspondent. 


This  heavy  punishment  in  no  way  affected 
the  equanimity  of  these  mistaken  organs, 
of  which  the  circulation  in  the  Northern 
empire  had  never  attained  a  height  worth 
consideration  or  even  mention.  A  sack- 
ful of  copies  under  private  addresses  had 
been  the  utmost  limit,  and  out  of  these 
the  majority  were  usually  lost  in  trans- 
mission with  that  patient,  bland  persist- 
ency by  means  of  which  the  Russian  Gov- 
ernment usually  succeeds  in  quelling  any 
private  and  individual  attempt  to  learn 
what  the  world  is  saying.  It  is  remark- 
able how  little  is  known  in  England  of  the 
method  of  procedure  in  a  country  so  near 
at  hand  as  Russia.  Hong  Kong  is  bet- 
ter known  than  Moscow,  Valparaiso  than 
Tver.  It  is,  for  instance,  a  matter  of  sur- 
prise to  many  intelligent  English  men  and 
women  to  learn  that  our  newspapers  are, 
with  one  or  two  exceptions,  forbidden  en- 
trance into  the  Czar's  dominions.  And 
in  the  case  of  those  exceptions  there  is 
no  circulation — each  copy  comes  under 
a  private  cover,  with  the  probability  of 


, _^^_„^,^ 


J]'' 


226 


Suspense 


being  opened  several  times  on  the  way. 
Moreover,  objectionable  paragraphs,  or,  in 
the  case  of  illustrated  journals,  sketches 
in  any  way  connected  with   the  seamy 
side  of  Slavonic  life,  are  ruthlessly  obliter- 
ated  with  a  black  pad.    The  transmission 
of  news  is  virtually  in  the  hands  of  the 
Government,  with  the  natural  result  that 
all  untoward  events  are  hushed  up,  while 
pleasant  things  are  glorified  to  the  infinite 
profit  of  those  in  office.     Respecting  the 
progress  of  humai^ity,  the  events  of  the 
outer  world,  and  the  march  of  civilization, 
the  whole  of  the  vast  continent  of  Russia 
is  kept  in  the  dark.     Even  with  our  mar- 
vellous facilities,  the  transmission  of  news 
over  such  vast  tracts  of  land,  across  such 
stupendous  plains,  would  be  a  matter  of 
some  difficulty ;   it  is,  therefore,  easy  to 
arrest  the  progress  of  thought,  and  force 
back   men's    brains    into    the    apathetic, 
voiceless  endurance  of  brutes. 

Under  these  circumstances  it  will  be 
readily  understood  that  the  views  of  the 
great   English  critic  were   looked    upon 


At  Work 


227 


on  the  way. 
igraphs,  or,  in 
lals,  sketches 
h  the  seamy 
ilessly  obliter- 

transmission 
hands  of  the 
al  result  that 
bed  up,  while 
:o  the  infinite 
Bspecting  the 
ivents  of  the 
f  civilization, 
mt  of  Russia 
/ith  our  mar- 
ssion  of  news 
,  across  such 

a  matter  of 
ore,  easy  to 
ht,  and  force 
e  apathetic, 
s. 

s   it  will   be 
views  of  the 


ooked    upon 


with  fear  and  dislike;  additionally  so, 
perhaps,  because  no  one  could  accuse 
him  of  partiality  or  political  bias.  He 
studied  war  as  an  art,  whereas  the  Russian 
staff  had  in  most  cases  taken  it  up  as  a 
profession. 

During  the  months  that  followed  many 
brave  men  came  to  the  front;  but  few 
reputations  were  made,  whereas  a  number 
were  lost.  Gourko  and  Skobeleff  proved 
that  their  personal  courage,  their  calm 
assumption  of  a  terrible  responsibility,  was 
something  almost  superhuman;  but  as 
strategists  they  came  within  measurable 
distance  of  failure.  The  one  has  the  stain 
of  three  thousand  lives  lost  in  one  bold 
march  upon  his  military  reputation  — 
namely,  the  crossing  of  the  Balkans ;  while 
the  other,  the  wild,  half-mad  Skobeleff, 
will  have  it  remembered  against  him  that 
two  thousand  of  his  "  children  "  fell  in 
the  storming  of  one  redoubt,  and  three 
thousand  more  perished  in  attempting  to 
hold  it. 

But  in  fairness  to  these  reckless  soldiers, 


228 


Suspen 


ise 


it  must  be  kept  in  mind  that  the  Russians 
pl.iyecl,  in  a  literal  as  well  as  rp^^^nohorical 
sense,   an    uphill   game.      Th         md    to 
storm  heights,  "rush"  redoubts,  and  ad- 
vance   on   trenches   against    the    Berdan 
rifle  in  the  hands  of  the  Turk.    Just  as 
each  man  knows  his  own  business  best, 
so  have  we  all  our  special  way  of  fighting. 
The  Russians  are  not  brilliant  at  the  a° 
tack,  because  they  are  too  reckless  of  life, 
and  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  ex- 
pose themselves  with  criminal  prodigality; 
whereas  there  is   no^  finer  defender  of  a 
fortified  position  than  the  Turk. 

Again,  Skobelefif  and  Gourk'  -e  ham- 
pered  by  being  in  too  consta..  ,id  fre- 
quent  communication  with  the  royal  ama- 
teur soldiers  in  their  comfortable  quarters 
on  the  Danube. 

At  first  the  Russians  seemed  to  carry 
all  before  them,  and  the  chronic  unreadi- 
ness of  the  enemy  was  a  matter  for  laugh- 
ter. Having  successfully  crossed  the 
Danube  towards  the  end  of  June,  driving 
the  Turks  before  them  step  by  step   to 


At  Work 


229 


tts, 
:he 
•k. 


he  Russians 

lad  to 
and  ad- 
Berdan 
Just  as 
siness  best, 
of  fighting. 
t  at  the  at- 
less  of  life, 
loment  ex- 
>rodigality; 
2nder  of  a 

-e  ham- 

lid  fre- 

royal  ama- 

le  quarters 

i  to  carry 
c  unreadi- 
for  laugh- 
3ssed  the 
le,  driving 
y  step  to 


Matchin,  the  campaign  was  looked  upon 
as  a  mere  parade.  Hut  Theodore  Trist, 
retreating  slowly  from  the  Danube  before 
the  advance  of  the  Northern  army,  held  a 
different  opinion. 

"At  present,"  he  wrote  in  the  second 
week   in   July,  "everything  seems  to  be 
against  us.     But  the  time  is  coming  when 
some  good  men  will  force  their  way  to  the 
fore;    and   the   power   of    individual    in- 
fluence  over   an   ill-disciplined   but   well- 
armed   horde    like    this    is    incalculable. 
Suleiman  Pasha  is  said  to  be  coming  with 
his  hardened  troops,  and  from   him  great 
things  may  be  expected.     He  is  a  good 
soldier,  with  an  energy  which  is  rendered 
more  striking  by  its  raritv  in  this  country. 
When  last   I  saw   him    iie  was  spare   in 
figure,  much  browned  by  exposure,  singu- 
larly active,  and  as  hard  as  nails.     In  ap- 
pearance he  is  unlike  a  Turk,  being  fair, 
with  ruddy  hair  and  quick  eyes.     His  men 
are  more  like  a  band  of  hill-robbers  than  a 
trained  army,  for  they  possess  no  distinct 
uniform ;  but  they  are  full  of  fight.     His 


230 


Suspense 


staff  is  ludicrously  informal,  possessing 
no  fine  titles,  and  being  entirely  destitute 
of  gold  braid.  The  Turks  are  a  strange 
mixture  of  impassibility  and  stubbornness. 
At  times  their  fatalism  gives  way  to  an 
overwhelming  strength  of  purpose,  almost 
defying  fate,  and  it  is  quite  within  the 
bounds  of  possibility  that  a  trifling  error 
on  the  part  of  the  Russians  may  turn  the 
tide  suddenly  upon  them,  and  a  disastrous 
retreat  to  the  Danube  will  follow." 

By  the  time  that  the  letter  from  which 
the  above  is  extracted  arrived  in  England, 
the  far-seeing  correspondent's  prophecy 
had  in  part  fallen  true.  The  tide  of 
fortune  had  set  in  in  favour  of  the 
Moslem,  and  although  a  retreat  was  not 
as  yet  whispered  of,  it  was  held  certain 
by  experts  that  more  men  were  absolutely 
required  by  the  Russians  in  order  to  con- 
tinue the  campaign. 

At  this  time  the  name  of  a  hitherto 
unknown  town  in  tV2  north  of  Bulgaria 
was,  constantly  on  men's  tongues.  Until 
now  no  one  had  ever  heard  of    Plevna, 


At  Work 


231 


I,  possessing 
•ely  destitute 
re  a  strange 
stubbornness. 
:s  way  to  an 
rpose,  almost 
2  within  the 
trifling  error 
Tiay  turn  the 
i  a  cfisastrous 
How." 

L  from  which 
I  in  England, 
it's    prophecy 

The  tide  of 
vour  of  the 
ireat  was  not 

held  certain 
ere  absolutely 
order  to  con- 

of  a  hitherto 
1  of  Bulgaria 
ngues.  Until 
•d  of    Plevna, 


which,   nevertheless,  was  destined   to  be 
the  chief  topic  of  conversation  through- 
out   all    the    civilized    world    for    many 
months  to  come.      The  genius   of    one 
man   raised   this  small   city  from  its  ob- 
scurity to  a  proud  place  in  the  annals  o 
warfare,  and  the  defence  of  Plevna  will 
ever  stand  forth  as  a  proof  of  the  influence 
of  one  strong  individuality  over  a  whole 
army ;  and,  one  might  almost  say,  upon 
the  march  of  events. 

Of  course  it  is  easy  to  state  that  much 
depended  upon  chance,  but  it  is  not  only 
in  warfare  that  we  all  have  to  wait  upon 
chance     Those  who  step  in  quickly  when 
fortune  leaves  the  gate  ajar  are  the  win- 
ners  in  the  war  we  are  engaged  m  here 
below     Had   Krudener  occupied  Plevna 
when  he    received    the  order  to  do  so 
Osman  Pasha  might  have  died  without 
leaving  his  mark  upon  the  sands  of  time 
But  the  Russian  delayed,  and  the   1  urk 
stepped  in.    Osman  saw  at  once  the^great 
strategetic  value  of  Plevna,  and  Krudener. 
the  man  of  many  mistakes,  was  outwitted. 


I 


I    r. 


232 


Suspense 


"  I  see,"  wrote  Trist  at  this  time  in  a 
private  letter  to  his  editor,  which  was  not 
pubHshed  until  later,  "  a  subtle  change  in 
the  atmosphere  of  events.  It  seems  to 
me  that  the  tide  is  turning.  I  will  now 
attach  myself  definitely  to  the  fortunes 
of  Plevna.  The  time  has  come  for  me 
to  give  up  niy  ubiquitous  endeavours; 
to  watch  one  spot  only.  My  colleagues 
are  full  of  dash  and  energy ;  or  them  you 
must  now  depend  for  the  other  movements 
of  the  campaign.  Osman  is  here,  and 
Skobeleff  is  in  this  part  of  the  country  as 
far  as  I  can  learn  —  there  is  a  feverish 
restlessness  among  the  Russians,  which 
suggests  his  presence.  With  these  two 
men  face  to  face  Plevna  will  become 
historical,  if  it  is  not  so  already,  for  it  will 
mark,  firstly,  the  greatest  military  bungle 
of  the  age  (Krudener's  neglect) ;  secondly 
.  .  .  who  knows  ?  Osman  is  a  wonderful 
fellow  —  that  is  all  I  can  tell  you  now. 
I  remain  here,  and  if  we  are  surrounded 
I  will  stick  to  Plevna  until  tJie  end.'' 

The  recipient  of  this  letter,  sitting  in 


At  Work 


233 


i  time  in  a 
lich  was  not 
;  change  in 
t  seems  to 

I  will  now 
he  fortunes 
)me  for  me 
^ndeavours ; 
yr  colleagues 
»r  them  you 

movements 
J  here,  and 
e  country  as 
5  a  feverish 
iians,  which 

I  these  two 
dll  become 
ly,  for  it  will 
itary  bungle 
t);  secondly 
a  wonderful 

II  you   now. 
surrounded 

'  endr 

:r,  sitting  in 


his  quiet  little  room  in  Fleet  Street, 
looked  at  the  last  words  again.  They 
were  underlined  with  a  firm  dash,  and 
inmiediately  below  followed  the  simple 
signature.  About  the  entire  letter  there 
was  a  straightforward  sense  of  purpose  — 
a  feeling,  as  it  were,  that  this  man  knew 
what  he  was  doing,  and  was  ready  to 
face  the  consequence  of  every  action. 
The  editor  shook  his  vast  head  from 
side  to  side  with  a  quiet  and  tolerant 
smile. 

"  The  fever  is  upon  him,"  he  said.  "  It 
is  a  thousand  pities  that  he  is  not  a 
soldier." 

Then  he  leant  forward  and  took  an 
envelope  from  the  stationery  case  upon 
the  table  in  front  of  him.  Into  this  he 
slipped  the  folded  letter,  addressing  it 
subsequently  to  Mrs.  Wylie,  at  Wyl's  Hall, 
Wyvenwich. 

On  the  last  day  of  July,  Prince  Scha- 
h  of  sky  and  Baron  Kriidener  attacked 
Plevna.  A  combination  had  been  in- 
tended, but  Kriidener  was  again  in  fault. 


WlillftitWWi^'"*"*^"'"''''^^*'''"'^"^'^'*^'^'*^^ 


234 


Suspense 


He  was  not  ready  at  the  hour  appointed 
ind   Schahofsky  was  led  into   th.  fata 
nf    attacking  a  superior    force   of 
error    ot    attacKing  r  result 

Turks  in  a  fortified  position,    /^e  resui 

cnd.is^«^   b  ■'     ,      4.i,f>^p  ic  no  man 

literal  wall  of  fire,  for  there  is  u" 

^en  a  Ptn'a.  against  an  -Per'ect  nfle 

■     1.  hands  of  a  halt-trained,  badly  fed, 

'Iriv-^coutred  soldier,  the  slaughter  was 
poorly-accoutre  ^       g^^ 

terrible,  and  the  resu 
hcleff   succeeded  in   reaiiy  *""  i 

^anring  an  intrenchment  by  the  bayonet 
:S  he  not  been  half  mad  with  excite- 
ment  and  wholly  carried  away  by  the 
:ild  lust  of  battle,  he  wou  d  never  have 
attempted  it,  for  the  men  literally  crawled 
over  heaps  of  their  slain  comrades.    The 


tJ.„„^., 


At  vV^ork 


^35 


r  appointed, 
to   the  fatal 
ior    {orce   of 
The  result 
the  whole  of 
ssiau  soldiers 
5hly   upon   a 
2  is  no  man 
2  fatalist.     In 
-firing  rifle  is 
such  thing  as 
2  point  of  the 
/e  to  stand  up 
position  held, 
imperfect  rifle 
[led,  badly  fed, 
i  slaughter  was 
11.    Only  Sko- 
j  and  literally 
jy  the  bayonet ; 
nad  with  excite- 
away  by  the 
uld  never  have 
literally  crawled 
:omrades.    The 


terrible  work  of  the  quick-firing  rifle  was 
""'irtKS-uU  upon  Plevna  .he 
Russians  settled  down  to  a  long  s.ege 
nnd  heavy  artillery  was  brought  to  bca 
"upon  theVfated  town  fron,  every  pomt 
o  vantage  on  the  surrounding  hills.  Step 
by  sep  the  northern  foe  crept  up  towards 

the  town,  until  the  sombre^lad  figures 
Irithin  the  redoubts  were  almost  recog- 
nisable from  the  Russian  lines. 

Finally,  it  was  one  day  announced  that 
the  last  communication  had  been  ^^^  f 
and  Plevna  was  surrounded.  L'ke  some 
sullen  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  a  ruthless 
en  my  the  fortress  stood  gnmly  sdent 
and  ii  the  world  wondered  P'tJnl'y  ;»;^ 
terrible  tragedy  might  be  workmg  out  .ts 
latest  chapters  within  that  small  c.rcle  of 
blood-stained  steel. 

Vague  reports  reached    England  *»' 
there  could  not  now  be  any  food  m  Plevm. 

The  garrison  must  be  f  ™"?;  .ribut 
,„d  children  were -thank  God  I -but 
few;    for  Osman   had  sent  them  away. 


BBIIIIIlff 


236 


Suspense 


Day  by  day  the  fall  of  this  unforeseen, 
unsuspected  stronghold  was  predicted,  but 
day  after  day  the  dingy  Crescent  hung  in 
the  morning  breeze,  and  every  point  was 
guarded. 

The  editor  of  the  great  English  news- 
paper sat  in  his  little  room  in  Fleet  Street 
and  watched  events  from  afar.  No  word 
reached  him,  for  Plevna  was  silent,  but  he 
displayed  no  anxiety. 

"  Wait ! "  he  said  to  all  inquirers. 
"  Wait  a  bit.  Trist  is  in  there,  and  when 
the  time  comes  he  will  astonish  us  all. 
One  can  always  rely  implicitly  on  Trist ! " 


»■■■ 


iforeseen, 

icted,  but 

hung  in 

loint  was 


Plevna 


•^VJ 


sh  news- 
et  Street 
No  word 
it,  but  he 

nquirers. 

nd  when 

h  us  all. 

TristI" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

PLEVNA 

THERE  is  in  one  of  the  minor  streets 
of  Plevna  a  small  baker's  shop, 
with  no  other  sign  indicating  that  bread 
may  be  bought  within  than  the  painted 
semblance  of  a  curiously  twisted  cake 
upon  the  yellow  wall  between  the  window 
and  the  low  door. 

On  the  seventh  of  September,  eighteen 
hundred  and  seventy-seven,  this  painted 
cake  was  the  nearest  approach  to  bread 
that  could  be  seen  in  the  neighbourhood. 
For  many  weeks  there  had  been  no  pleas- 
ant odour  of  browning  loaves,  no  warm 
air  from  the  oven  at  the  back  of  the  shop. 
Curious  ironv  of  fate!  The  baker  had 
died  of  starvation.  The  foul  heap  of 
clothing  lying  in  the  ditch  a  few  yards 
down  the  hill  was  all  the  earthly  remnant 
of  the  late  owner  of  this  useless  establish- 


.afcS,gagjBJJj,s4)p6a«»iaM«to«***««i 


^ismai^imi'ni'i'- 


238 


Suspense 


„ent  Useless  because  there  was  nothing 
r  Plevna  now  to  bake.  He  had  been 
dead  many  days,  but  there  seern^  *°J^ 
no  question  of  burying  him.     There  were 

.ooU7-'^^'rt:e7virg''toC 
L?r;Krtt:  rad.'\L  heavy 

^stilential  air  was  full  of  the  groans  of 
these  DOor  wretches. 

Within  the  little  shop  were  three  men 
-one  seated  on  a  rough  table  a  second 
standing  before  him.  the  third  perched 
tn"chaUntly  on  the  window-sil   smoking 
a  cigarette.     The  last-ment.oned  had  the 
advantage  of  his  companions  m  the  mat- 
Z  of  years,  but  of  the  three  his  grav- 
ity of  demeanour   was  most   noticeable. 
Amidst  such  squalid  surroundings  -  by 
the  side,  as  it  were,  of  death -his  per- 
sonal appearance  was  somewhat  remarK- 
able.  for  he  was  neat  and  clean  in  dress. 
His  tresh  rosy  cheek  had  that  cleanly  ap- 
pearance which  denotes  the  recent  passage 

of   the  razor,  the   light   ">'>"*'»*%2' 
brushed  aside  with  a  rakish  upward  flour- 


Plevna 


239 


as  nothing 
had  been 
med  to  be 
rhere  were 
iick,  dying, 
ng  to  have 
The  heavy 
;  groans  of 

three  men 
lie,  a  second 
ird  perched 
sill  smoking 
led  had  the 

in  the  mat- 
ee  his  g"av- 
t   noticeable, 
indings  —  by 
:h  — his  per- 
what  remark- 
ean  in  dress, 
at  cleanly  ap- 
recent  passage 
oustache  was 

upward  flour- 


Uh      The   nose  was  small  and  strai.^ht 
t  eye     blue.     A  bright   red  fez  tUted 
rl^  forward  completed  the  smar    ap- 
nearance  of  the  smoker,  who  mampula  ed 
hUcTgarette  daintily,  and,  while  listenmg 
trthe'conversationofhistwocomp— 
made  no  attempt  to  jom  in  it^    This  man 
was  Tefik  Bey,   Osman  Pasha s  chef  of 
staff    one  of    the    defenders    of   Plevna 
Stan,  one  cannot  tell  what 

Tefik  is  a  puzzle,     '-'ne  caimwt 
sortormanheis.    He  is  indescnbable. 
rlurn  to  a  decree,  he  was  barely  th,rty 

Lrs  of  age.  and  looked  yo""g";     ^ 

dark  sombre,  silent  man  is  more  or  less  a 

;i^forward  production  of  Natu.^^^^ 

Tefik  had  the  appearance  of  a  light-hearted 

talker,  and  belied  it. 

m  man  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
small,  low-rooted  chamber  -s jj.s  -"Jr- 
ful  chief.  Osman   Pasha     T^dl.  strongly 
built,  and  handsome,  he  formed  a  stntag 
contrast  to  his  young  colleague.    A  loos^. 
dark-blue  cloak  hung  from  h.s  shoulde^, 
and  the  inevitable   fez   surmounted    h.s 
;:werfulbrow.    A  short  black  beard  con- 


iiMeaia 


240 


Suspense 


cealed  a  chin  of  unusual  firmness,  and 
from  time  to  time  a  nervous  movement  of 
a  somewhat  dusky  hand  brushed  the  hair 
aside  with  a  rustling  sound.  The  nose 
was  large  and  inclined  downwards  with  a 
heavy  curve,  while  beneath  bushy  brows  a 
pair  of  steadfast  black  eyes  looked  sorrow- 
fully forth  upon  the  world.  There  was 
determination  and  a  great  energy  in  those 
eyes,  despite  their  wan  thoughtfulness. 

He  who  sat  at  the  table  we  know.  It 
was  Theodore  Trist.  Clean  and  carefully 
shaven,  he  was  literally  clad  in  rags ;  but 
his  face  had  lost  its  old  dreaminess,  its 
vague  meekness  of  demeanour.  A  clear 
light  in  his  eyes,  the  set  of  his  lips,  con- 
veyed in  some  indefinite  way  that  this 
man  was  in  his  element.  Despite  his 
hollow  cheeks  and  sunken  temples,  in  the 
midst  of  that  heavy  reek  of  death  and 
blood,  this  Englishman  was  visibly  happy. 

"  Do  you  want,"  Osman  was  saying, 
"  to  see  what  we  can  do  with  our  triple 
ranks  of  Berdans  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


Plevna 


241 


nness,  and 
ovf^ment  of 
ed  the  hair 

The  nose 
rds  with  a 
hy  brows  a 
ced  sorrow- 
There  was 
;y  in  those 
tfuhiess. 

know.  It 
id  carefully 
I  rags;  but 
miness,  its 
.  A  clear 
is  lips,  con- 
r  that  this 
>espite  his 
jles,  in  the 
death  and 
ibly  happy, 
i^as  saying, 

our  triple 


"To-morrow  SkobelcfF  will  attack  t!ie 
redoubt  again.  He  has  positive  orders  to 
take  it  at  any  cost." 

"  Willht  take  it? "  asked  Trist. 

Osman  turned  with  a  smile  towards 
Tefik,  who  was  lighting  a  second  cigar- 
ette. The  chief  of  staff  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  threw  away  the  end  of  the 
last  cigarette  with  a  sideward  movement  of 
his  lips. 

Osman  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  pre- 
cisely the  same  way. 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  he  said  quietly.  "  If 
they  value  the  redoubt  at  four  thousand 
lives,  they  might  do  it." 

Trist  set  his  two  elbows  on  the  table 
and  looked  up  at  the  speaker's  face  with 
calm  speculative  scrutiny.  He  did  not 
offer  him  a  chair,  because  he  knew  that 
Osman  rarely  sat  down.  The  great 
soldier  had  no  time  for  rest. 

"Skobeleff,"  said  tl>.  Englishman,  "is 
a  great  man,  but  Napoleon  would  have 
been  in  here  some  time  ago." 

Tefik  moved  slightly,  and  looked  towards 
16 


242  Suspense 

his  two  companions  with  a  vague  smile. 

Me  k..ew  nothing  of  Napoleon  the  C.reat 

and  his  method  of  making   war.     More- 

over,  he  did  not  care  to  know. 

It  was  the  chief   of  staff  who  finally 
broke  a  silence  of  some  duration. 

"  Listen,  Osman,"  he  said  in  a  soft, 
dreamy  voice.  "  I  hear  the  sound  of  a 
new  iin.  The  Russians  have  mounted 
another  big  one.     We  are  going  to   get 

it  very  hot.  ,. 

,      All   three  raised  their  heads  and  hs- 
tened.     After  the  lapse  of  a  minute  a  ddl 
thud  broke  upon  their  ears.     The  Rus- 
sians had  mounted  a  new  siege  gun,  and 
Plevna  was  beginning  its  career  as  a  tar- 
get  for  a  steadily  increasing  army  of  ar- 
tillery    There  was  no  indecent  haste  in 
loading  or  sponging.      It  was  excellent 
practice  for  the  gunners,  and  through  the 
next  three   months  the   sound  of  heavy 
firing  never  quite   ceased   night  or  day. 
At  times,  by  way  of  variety,  the  whole  of 
the  artillery  combined  in  directmg  its  fire 
upon  a  spot  previously  so'  -  t^^ 


Plevna 


243 


gue  smile. 

the  Great 

ar.     More- 

vho   finally 

tion. 

in  a  soft, 
^ound  of  a 
;e  mounted 
Ding  to   get 

ids  and  Us- 
linute  a  dull 
The  Rus- 
ige  gun,  and 
eer  as  a  tar- 
army  of  ar- 
ent  haste  in 
vas  excellent 
through  the 
nd   of   heavy 
light  or  day. 
the  whole  of 
ecting  its  fire 
.  the 


„rim  game  was  not  all  on  cmc  s.de,  for 
llcvnf  pluckily  returned  blow  lor  blow 

..There  is,"  said  an  expert  a.  Rus^"" 
headquarters, "  a  European  cbrect.ng  those 
ouns— probably  a  German. 
^  But  Trist  never  sighted  a  s  ngle  shot, 
although  he  did  not  withhold  h,s  adv.ee. 
«  I  know  where  it  is,"  said  Te6k  at  last. 

..  Perhaps  we  can  get  at  it." 
;\nd  he  left  the  room  quietly. 

The  two  men  remaining  there  did  no 
soeak  tor  some  time.    Trist  was  oecup.ed 
S  a  large  sheet  of  paper  covered  with 

fin,,  writinc,  and  showing  columns  of 
fiX    ol'an  Had  brought  ;his  to    im 

and  was  now  evidently  waiting  for  it. 
The  Englishman  skimmed  up  the  columns 
,h  The  celerity  of  a  banker's  clerk,  mut- 
7e rin!  the  add"  Ls  in  his  native  language^ 
The  hand  that  held  the  pen  was  br^wn 
,nd  scarred  with  manual  labour,  for  Tnst 
fdtred  in  the  trenches  aY-d-gh 

"Yes"  he  said  at  length,  lo^'^/'^S"^  , 
a  bllLs-like,  curt  wj.  ^tafsot 
that  between  these  men  there  was 


I 


y^ 


y 


Jl 


244  Suspense 

bond  of  comradeship.  "  Those  figures 
are  all  right.  At  an  extremity  you  could 
even  reduce  the  allowance  of  soup,  could 
you  not  ? " 

The  soldier  shook  his  head  with  a  wan 
and  momentary  smile. 

"  Scarcely,"  he  replied.  "  It  is  getting 
colder  every  day.  If  we  want  to  hold  out 
v;a  must  keep  up  the  hearts  of  the  men, 
and  if  there  is  nothing  to  press  them 
upwards  all  our  hearts  drop  into  our 
stomachs,   my   friend." 

"  There  is  more  clothing  to  be  had. 
We  get  a  fresh  supply  day  by  day,"  said 
Trist,  with  an  uneasy  sigh. 

Osm?n  winced.  The  meaning  was  only 
too  clear,  for  the  time  had  long  since 
gone  by  for  men  to  scruple  over  stripping 
the  dead  for  the  benefit  of  the  living. 

"Yes.     You  are  right." 

With  these  words  the  commander  of 
Plevna  turned  Lo  go. 

"  What  news  have  you  ? "  inquired 
Trist  indifferently,  as  he  set  in  order  the 
papers  lying  upon  his  table.     He  spoke 


Plevna 


245 


hose  figures 
ity  you  could 
E  soup,  could 

i  with  a  wan 

It  is  getting 

it  to  hold  out 

of  the  men, 

press   them 

op    into  our 

to  be   had. 
by  day,"  said 

ling  was  only 
1  long  since 
ver  stripping 
e  living. 

jmmander  of 


in  a  loud  voice,  as  all  men  did  in   Plevna, 
because  of  the  roar   of  artillery  and   the 
rolling  echo  among  the  hills. 
"  Oh  —  nothing  of  importance ! " 
"  Are  you   quite   without    communica- 
tions from  outside? " 

Osman  turned  upon  the  threshold,  and 
looked  back  with  a  smile  of  assumed 
density.  Then  he  disappeared  through 
the  low  doorway. 

Trist  turned  to  his  papers  again,  but 
he  had  not  begun  writing  when  the 
Turkish  commander  appeared  once  more. 

"  Trist,"  he  said,  coming  forward  with 
long,  heavy  strides. 

"Yes." 

"  I  can  get  you  out  to-night.  Had  you 
not  better  go  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  stay,"  replied  the 
Englishman.  "I  am  neither  a  woman 
nor  a  child.' 

"  But  why  run  the  risk  ? " 

"  It  is  my  duty." 

"  What  we  are  enduring  now,"  said 
Osman,    in    a    dull,    painful     voice,    "is 


!* 


I  ? "    inquired 

in  order  the 

;.     He  spoke 


246 


Suspense 


!il 


nothing  to  what  I   foresee.     At  presen 
we  make  some  small  attempt  to  collect 
bodies   and   .   .   .   and    limbs,   and    bury 
them      Soon  that  will  be  impossible,  for 
we  shall  want  all   our  men  at  the   guns 
and  in    the    redoubts.      The    wmter    is 
comimr  on -food  is  already  scarce -the 
"ed  cannot  be  cared  far.     They  and 
the  dead  will  lie  about  the  stje^^s  rotting 
in  their   own   blood.      My  fnend  1    this 
place  will  be  a  hell  on  earth! 
»  Nevertheless,  I  stay." 
«  Disease  will  take  the  town  before  the 
Russians  break  through  -  few  of  us  will 
live  to  see  Christmas!"  pleaded  Osman.^ 

The  Englishman  looked  up,  pen  in 
hand.  There  was  actually  a  smile  hover- 
ing  upon  his  firm  lips.  ^^ 

"  It  is  useless,"  he  said  very  gently.       1 

stay  till  the  end." 

"As  you  like,"  murmured  the  soldier, 

leaving  the  room.  . 

Trist  did  not  begin  work  again  tor 
some  time.  The  pile  of  papers  around 
was   of  sufficient  dimensions  to  alarm  a 


At  present 
pt  to  collect 
)S,  and  bury 
npossible,  for 

at  the  guns 
he  winter  is 
y  scarce — the 
ir.  They  and 
streets  rotting 

friend!    this 
rth  1 " 

own  before  the 
•  few  of  us  will 
aded  Osman. 
:d    up,   pen   in 
a  smile  hover- 

ery  gently.    "  I 

red   the  soldier, 

work  again  for 

papers   around 

ions  to  alarm  a 


Plevna  ^47 

less  methodical  labourer,  but  -  the  ap- 
parent disorder  there  was  really  a  perfect 
svstem       Darkness  closed   in   soon,   and 
he    war-correspondent    lighted    a   sma 
amp     Then  he  laid  aside  the  larger  mass 
of'paper.  and  selected  a  sheet  which  h 
doubled  carefully  into  the  form  of  a  ette^ 
« It  is  better,"  he  said,      to  face  aii 

,  V-iT  e      1  shall  write  to  her  now, 
probabilities.     1  shaii  wn 

L  case  we  are  starved  to  death  in  here 

''^Faf  ^to  the  night  this  strange,  restless 
End  shman  sat  at  the  little  table  writing. 
Held  ess  of  the  roar  of  artillery,  the  rnerr^^ 
Tall  of  the  bugle,  and  the  groan  of  the 
dv  ng  he  wrote  on  at  a  great  speed,  for 

onlv  comes  from  long  practice 
.  offpr  oaffe  of  the  small  paper, 

i„"„e„velope,which  he  addressed  care- 
fully  in  a  legible  roundhand. 


Ill 


248 


Suspense 


"There,"  he  murmured,  "let  that  be 
the  last  line  I  write  to-night.  It  seems 
to  me  that  we  are  on  the  verge  of  a 
crisis.  Osman  has  something  on  his 
mind  ...  I  wonder  if  he  means  to  cut 
his  way  out." 

Before  lying  down  to  rest  on  the  heap 
of  straw  which  served  him  as  a  bed,  he 
collected  all  his  papers  and  placed  them 
securely  in  a  large  leather  despatch -case, 
upon  which  was  painted  in  black  letters 
the  address  of  the  newspaper  which  he 
served.  This  was  his  nightly  custom  ; 
for  he  was  out  all  day  upon  the  walls 
among  the  devoted  children  of  Islam, 
and  where  bullets  are  flying  no  man  has 
a  right  to  ignore  the  chances  of  death. 
There  was  no  bravado  in  the  action,  but  a 
mere  simple  method.  The  chances  were 
much  in  favour  of  the  little  baker's  shop 
being  left  empty  one  night ;  but  that  was 
no  reason  why  the  British  public  should 
be  defrauded  of  its  rightful  sensation  in 
the  matter  of  words  written  by  a  hand 
that  is  still,  for  nothing  is  so  safe  to  draw 


Plevna 


249 


t  that  be 
It  seems 
:rge  of  a 
;  on  his 
ns  to  cut 

the  heap 
a  bed,  he 
ced  them 
atch-case, 
ck  letters 
which  he 

custom  ; 
the  walls 
o£   Islam, 

man  has 
of  death, 
ion,  but  a 
ices  were 
:er's  shop 

that  was 
ic  should 
sation  in 
^r  a  hand 
e  to  draw 


as  the  last  words  of  one  who  has  died  in 
battle  or  mishap. 

People  who  live  peaceably  at  home 
are  accustomed  to  receive  great  odds  in 
the  game  of  life  and  death.  They,  there- 
fore, cannot  understand  why  others  — 
wanderers,  sailors  at  all  times,  soldiers 
in  time  of  war— are  content  with  the 
lighter  favour,  and  have  the  power  of  liv- 
ing happily  in  close  proximity  to  death. 


250 


Suspense 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   PUZZLE   OF    LIFE 

FOR  five  days  and  five  nights  there  was 
little   sleep  to  be  had   in  Plevna. 
The  Russians  did  not  attack,  as  had  been 
generally  expected  within   the  town,  but 
commenced  a  terrible  bombardment.    Day 
and  night  the  heavy  guns  were  served  by 
continual  relays  of  men,  and  life  in  the  re- 
doubts was  such  as  to  reconcile  the  most 
philosophic  to  death.    Within  the  town 
the  scene  was  simply  hellish.    Osman  has 
been  accused  of  neglecting  his  wounded, 
but  no  man  who  crouched  in  the  little 
town  he  so  gloriously  defended  during 
those  days  would  have  the  courage  to  aver 
that  he  could  have  done  more  than  he 

did. 

Tuesday,  the  eleventh  of   September, 

dawned  gray  and  hopeless.    The  smoke 

of  a  million   rifles,  a  thousand  cannon, 


there  was 
1  Plevna, 
had  been 
town,  but 
2nt.  Day 
served  by 

in  the  re- 
;  the  most 

the  town 
)sman  has 

wounded, 

the  little 
ed  during 
ige  to  aver 
e  than  he 

September, 
rhe  smoke 
ad  cannon, 


The  Puzzle  of  Life  251 

hung  heavily  over  the  low  hills.  The 
continuous  roar  of  the  last  few  days 
seemed  to  have  benumbed  the  very  air, 
even  as  it  had  paralyzed  men's  senses. 

In  the  Russian  camp  upon  the  Loftcha 
road  there  were  signs  of  extra  activity. 
The  artillery  fire  was  somewhat  slacker.^^ 
"  They  will  attack  the  redoubts  to-day," 
Theodore  Trist  said  to  himself,  as  he  sur- 
veyed the  position  of  affairs  in  the  gray 
morning  light.     There  was  not  much  to 
be  seen,  owing  to  the  density  of  the  fog 
hanging  low  in   the  vales,  but  the  five 
days'  bombardment  followed  by  audible 
activity  in  camp  had  some  meaning. 

Osman  knew  his  weak  point  as  well  as 
it  was  known  by  Skobeleff ;  but  the  Rus- 
sian general -foolhardy,  reckless,  wild  as 
he  was  —  hesitated  to  attack. 

But  there  is  no  man  who  can  boast  that 
he  is  free  from  the  trammels  of  duty. 
"Duty  is  a  certainty,"  says  one  of  our 
great  living  preachers,  and  we  often  lose 
sight  of  that  fact.  Skobeleff  had  received 
orders  to  take  the  redoubt  in  the  curve  of 


252 


Suspense 


the  Loftcha  road,  and  on  the  eleventh 
of  September  he  made  ready  to  obey. 
Whether  it  was  a  criminal  blunder  or  a 
deliberate  sacrifice  of  human  life,  it  is  not 
for  us  to  say;  nor  must  we  blame  the 
young  general  who,  much  against  his  will, 
sent  his  men  forward  to  a  certain  death. 

It  was  afternoon  before  the  advance 
was  made,  and  in  many  places  the  fog  had 
lifted. 

Theodore  Trist,  with  that  instinct  of 
warfare  which  was  his  curse,  had  selected 
a  spot  on  the  hill  behind  the  doomed  forti- 
fication, and  thence,  or  from  near  at  hand, 
he  witnessed  that  terrible  day's  work. 

Failure  was  Skobeleff' s  bete  noir.  Suc- 
cess in  this  case  was  an  absolute  necessity. 
There  was  only  one  way  of  gaining  it  in 
face  of  the  horrible  fire  which  was  waiting 
within  the  fortification.  Like  the  waves 
of  ocean  the  Russian  general  swept  his 
men  up  at  carefully  selected  intervals.  No 
troops  in  the  world  could  have  advanced 
under  such  galling  volleys  —  they  were 
bound  to  waver  and  fall  back.     But  at  the 


e  eleventh 
1  to  obey, 
inder  or  a 
fe,  it  is  not 
blame  the 
ist  his  will, 
in  death. 
&  advance 
the  fog  had 

instinct  of 
ad  selected 
)omed  forti- 
ar  at  hand, 
work. 


notr. 


Suc- 


e  necessity. 

ining  it  in 

vas  waiting 

the  waves 

swept  his 

ervals.    No 

e  advanced 

■  they  were 

But  at  the 


The  Puzzle  of  Life 


253 


moment  of  hesitation  a  fresh  regiment 
came  on  at  the  charge  with  a  wild  shout, 
bearing  on  the  others  in  front  of  them. 
Four  regiments  rushed  on  thus  to  their 
death— three  thousand  men  in  three  hun- 
dred yards.  In  the  redoubt  the  Turks 
fought  with  that  calm,  desperate  fatalism 
which  makes  such  grand  soldiers  of  the 
followers  of  Mahomed. 

Theodore  Trist,  standing  on  the  scarp 
of  a  second  redoubt  two  hundred  and 
fifty  yards  to  the  rear,  wrote  rapidly  in 
his  book,  his  mouth  quivering  with  ex- 
citement.    At  last  he  could  stand  it  no 

longer. 

"  By  God  !  "  he  exclaimed  hoarsely,  "  I 
have  never  seen  anything  like  this ! " 

And  shouting  incoherently,  he  ran  down 
the  slope  towards  the  redoubt. 

At  this  moment  Skobeleff  came  charg- 
ing up  at  the  head  of  his  last  reserve,  a 
mere  handful  of  sharpshooters.  Trist 
saw  the  general  fall  and  roll  over  with  his 
stricken  horse.  A  great  throb  seemed  to 
choke  him,  and  he  barely  realized  that 


254 


Suspense 


Skobeleff  was  on  his  feet  again  leading 
on  his  men,  waving  his  sword  and  shriek- 
ing like  a  madman.  A  moment  later  the 
Englishman  was  borne  uphill  before  a 
rushing  mass  of  Turks,  black  with  powder, 
voiceless,  inhuman  in  their  fury.  The 
redoubt  was  lost! 

But  Trist  did  not  give  way  to  the 
general  panic.  The  instinct  of  journalism 
was  too  strong  in  him,  and  he  stood  for 
a  moment  between  the  two  redoubts  look- 
ing on  with  practised  eyes.  He  knew 
exactly  how  many  men  had  been  defend- 
ing the  position  now  lost,  and  was  busy 
counting  roughly  the  small  number  of 
fugitives.  In  certain  corners  of  the  re- 
doubt the  fight  was  still  going  on,  but 
the  Turks  in  there  were  no  better  than 
dead  men. 

While  he  was  still  there  a  Russian  non- 
commissioned officer  picked  up  the  rifle 
of  a  Turk,  and  took  aim  at  the  solitary 
figure  standing  upon  the  slope,  but  Skobe- 
leff knocked  away  the  barrel  with  hii 
sword. 


r^.'!d^5lr.''--i ' 


rmsBBBmoBr- 


The  Puzzle  of  Life 


255 


;aln  leading 
and  shriek- 
;nt  later  the 
11  before  a 
vith  powder, 
fury.      The 

ivay   to    the 
•f  journalism 
le  stood  for 
doubts  look- 
He    knew 
)een  defend- 
d  was  busy 
number  of 
of  the  re- 
ing  on,  but 
better  than 

Russian  non- 
up  the  rifle 
the  solitary 
;,  but  Skobe- 
el  with    hi; J 


"  Not  that  man,  my  child ! "  he  ex- 
claimed, in  a  voice  hoarse  with  shouting. 
"  I  know  him.     Let  the  story  of  this  fight 

be  told!" 

The  artillery  fire  had  ceased  all  round, 
and  for  a  moment  there  was  a  great  silence 
in  the  valley,  only  broken  by  the  moan  of 
the  dying  and  an  occasional  rifle-shot  here 
and  there.  It  was  almost  as  if  the  living 
stood  aghast  —  ashamed  and  cowering 
before  their  Maker,  by  the  side  of  their 
grim  handiwork.  And  so  darkness  came 
over  the  land,  covering  the  hideousness 
of  it  with  a  merciful  veil. 

"  They  cannot  possibly  hold  it  I "  Trist 
said  to  an  officer  who  accosted  him  as  he 
made  his  way  — dazed  and  stupefied- 
back  into  the  town.     "  It  is  untenable." 

This  was  no  idle  attempt  at  consolation. 
The  Russian  general  had  obeyed  orders, 
but  now  he  knew  that  his  gallant  work 
had  been  all  in  vain.  By  itself  the  re- 
doubt was  useless,  for  it  was  fully  exposed 
to  the  Turkish  fire,  and  there  was  no 
material  at  hand   to  reconstruct  it,  had 


IHB 


256 


Suspense 


his  weary  men  been  equal  to  the  task, 
which  they  were  not.  During  the  night 
he  sent,  again  and  again,  for  reinforce- 
ments, which  were  persistently  withheld, 
and  at  dawn  he  pluckily  prepared  to  de- 
fend the  position  as  best  he  might  with 
the  remainder  of  his  own  army-corps. 

Trist  had  said  that  when  Osman  and 
Skobeleff  met  there  would  be  war  indeed, 
and  the  result  proved  with  terrible  reality 
that  he  had  spoken  naught  else  but  the 
truth. 

At  daybreak  the  fight  began  again. 
The  restless  Turkish  leader  had  made  all 
his  arrangements  during  the  night.  Ex- 
posed as  it  was  to  a  galling  fire  from  all 
sides,  it  seemed  impossible  that  the  re- 
doubt could  be  held.  But  Skobeleff  was 
there,  and.  under  Skobeleff  the  Rus- 
sians have  fought  as  they  never  fought 
before. 

At  Turkish  headquarters  there  was  little 
or  no  anxiety,  for  the  enemy  could  not 
afford  to  take  another  redoubt  at  such  a 
cost,  and  so  skilfully  had  the  fortifications 


m\ 


wmtm 


the  task, 
the  night 
reinforce- 
withheld, 
red  to  de- 
light with 
orps. 

sman  and 
ar  indeed, 
j\q  reality 
e  but  the 

an  again, 
made  all 
ght.  Ex- 
;  from  all 
it  the  re- 
beleff  was 
the  Rus- 
er  fought 

e  was  little 
could  not 
at  such  a 
"tifications 


The  Puzzle  of  Life 


257 


been  planned,  that  theic  was  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  further  advances  could  be 
made  more  easily. 

"To-morrow,"  Osman  had  said  to  his 
chief  of  staff,  "  it  must  be  retaken  !  "  and 
the  young  officer  merely  nodded  his  head. 
Then  with  the  pencil  that  he  carried  stuck 
into  his  fez  above  his  eye,  the  Turkish 
commander  proceeded  to  write  out  his 
instructions. 

At  daybreak  the  fight  began  again,  and 
the  sun  had  not  yet  lost  its  matutinal  rud- 
diness when  the  first  organized  attack  was 
made.     This  was  repulsed,  and  the  same 
fate  attended  four  subsequent  attempts. 
No  man  but  Skobeleff  could   have  held 
that  position  for  so  long.     As  usual,  there 
was  something  unique  and  original  in  his 
style   of  defence.     He   waited   until    the 
attacking  force  was   almost   within   forty 
yards  before  firing,  and  then    met   them 
with   one  crashing  volley,   the  sound   of 
which  rose  to  the  firmament  like  the  crack 
of  doom.     After  that  the  roll  of  fire  swept 
from  side  to  side,  from  end  to  end,  with  a 

17 


dIUiM 


2s8 


Suspense 


:il'^ 


|ii 


<ii  III 


continuous  grating  rattle  I'.ke  the  sweep 
of  a  scythe  in  hay. 

The  short  day  was  almost  drawing  to 
a  close,  when  the  remnant  of  the  fifth 
attacking  corps  returned,  baflfled  and  dis- 
heartened. The  sun  had  already  dis- 
appeared behind  a  bank  of  purple  cloud, 
through  which  gleamed  bars  of  lurid  gold 
low  down  upon  the  rounded  hills.  Over- 
head there  was  a  shimmering  haze  of 
Indian  red.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  the 
sky  had  caught  the  reflection  of  the  blood- 
stained earth. 

To  the  ears  of  the  Turks  came  the 
distant  sound  of  voices  hoarsely  cheering. 
The  sound  was  of  no  great  strength,  for 
Skobeleff  himself  had  been  voiceless  all 
day,  and  the  remainder  —  a  mere  handful 
of  black-faced,  wild  madmen  —  were  dry 
and  parched. 

"  They  must  be  nearly  worn  out,"  said 
Osman  quietly,  upon  receiving  the  latest 
report.  "  We  will  attack  again,  and  take 
the  redoubt  before  nightfall." 

Tefik  merely  acquiesced  without  com- 


J, 

ill 


iSKE 


!ke  the  sweep 

)st  drawing  to 
t  of  the  fifth 
affled  and  dis- 
already  dis- 
purple  cloud, 
s  of  lurid  gold 
I  hills.  Over- 
ering  haze  of 
med  as  if  the 
n  of  the  blood- 

irks  came  the 
rsely  cheering. 
Lt  strength,  for 
n  voiceless  all 
I  mere  handful 
en  —  were  dry 

vorn  out,"  said 
ving  the  latest 

igain,  and  take 

»> 

without  com- 


The  Puzzle  of  Life  259 

ment,  as  was  his  wont,  and  turned  away 
to  give  his  orders  with  a  close  precision 
which  inspired  great  confidence  in  his 
subordinates. 

Presently  he  returned  to  where  his 
chief  was  standing,  not  far  removed  from 
Theodore  Trist,  who  was  writing  hard 
upon  a  gun-carriage.  ,, 

"They  want  somebody  to  lead  them, 
s?id  Tefik  significantly.  His  contempt 
fo-  the  usual  run  of  portly,  comfortable 
'.  urkish  line-officers  was  well  known. 
'  Trist  looked  up  and  saw  that  the  com- 
mander  was  looking  at  his  subordinate 
with  calmly  questioning  eyes.        ^ 

«.  I "  said  the  Englishman,  closing  his 
note-book  as  he  came  forward,  "will  go 

for  one."  ,  ^i 

"And  I,  and  I,  and  I '."came  from  all 

sides.    Some  were  staff-officers,  some  civil- 
ians, some  old  men  and  some  mere  boys 

"  kn  Englishman."  said  Tefik,  with  th; 
faintest  suggestion  of  a  smile,  "is  too  va  - 
uable  to  be  refused  I     It  would  make  all 
the  difference." 


•■■iiffi»f''----'niMirrtWffi*''W?'^^'*'^ 


260 


Suspense 


"  I  have  been  idle  long  enough,"  an- 
swered Trist,  in  a  voice  laden  with  sup- 
pressed excitement.  "  I  cannot  stand  it 
any  longer." 

He  closed  his  note-book,  drew  the 
elastic  carefully  over  it,  and  raised  his 
eyes  to  the  strange,  dishevelled  group  of 
men  before  him.  The  chief  of  this  won- 
derful staff,  Osman  himself,  held  out  his 
hand  without  a  word,  took  the  book,  and 
dropped  it  into  the  pocket  of  his  long 
blue  cloak. 

Already  the  call  of  the  bugle  told  that 
preparations  were   in   course  —  that  tb 
commander's  orders  were  being  execute  a. 


Before  darkness  lowered  over  the  land 
the  redoubt  was  again  in  the  hands  of  the 
Turks.  This  is  a  matter  of  history — as 
also  the  fact  that  the  flower  of  the  Russian 
army  lay  all  round  Plevna  for  three  months 
afterwards,  and  never  gained  an  advan- 
tage equal  to  that  which  they  had  held  for 
twentv-four  hours.  Osman  was  impreg- 
nable —  Plevna  unasoctilable,  except  by  the 


The  Puzzle  of  Life 


261 


ough,"  an- 
i  with  sup- 
ot  stand  it 


drew  the 
raised  his 
d  group  of 
f  this  won- 
eld  out  his 
J  book,  and 
)f  his  long 

e  told  that 
—  that  tb  . 
y  execute  d. 

;r  the  land 
ands  of  the 
i  story  —  as 
;he  Russian 
iree  months 
an  advan- 
ad  held  for 
'as  impreg- 
:cept  by  the 


slower  weapon  of  bodily  hunger  — grim 
starvation. 

It  was  nearly  seven  o'clock  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  twelfth  of  September,  before 
Tefik  Bey,  the  grave  young  chief  of  staff, 
found  time  to  visit  the  great  double  re- 
doubt which  had  cost  the  Russian  army 
over  five  thousand  lives. 

Accompanied  by  an  orderly  bearing  a 
simple  paraffin  hurricane-lamp,  he   made 
his  laborious  way  over  the  heaps  of  dead. 
Upon  the  hill  above  the  redoubt  the  Turks 
lay  in   thousands.    There  were  rows  of 
them,  shoulder  to  shoulder  as  they   had 
charged,  marking  the  effect  of  Skobeleff's 
terrible  volleys.     Below  the  defence,  upon 
the  lower  slope,  the  Russians  covered  the 
earth,  and  in  the  redoubt  itself  Moslem 
and  Ci\ristian  lay  entangled  in  the  throes 
of  deah.    They  were  literally  piled   on 
the  top  of  each  other  —  a  very  storehouse 
of  the  dead  — for  the  Russians  had  fought 
all  day  standing  upon  the  bodies  of  the 
slain.      Now   the  ready  Turks  trampled 
countryman  and  foe  alike  beneath   their 


262 


Suspense 


feet,  for  it  was  by  no  means  certain  that 
an  attempt  might  not  be  made  at  once  to 
regain  the  coveted  position. 

While  crossing  a  ditch,  that  had  been 
hastily  cut  by  the  Russians,  Tefik  stopped 
suddenly. 

"  Give  me  the  lantern ! "  he  said,  in  a 
peculiar  short  way. 

Then  he  stooped  over  th^  body  of  a 
man  who  lay  face  downwards  upon  the 
blood-soaked  turf. 
"  Turn  him  over  1 " 

The  flame  of  the  hurricane-Is  mp  flick- 
ered ruddily,  and  lighted  up  a  calm,  bland 
face.  The  firm  lips  were  slightly  parked 
in  a  smile,  which  seemed  to  be,  in  some 
subtle  way,  interrogative  in  its  tendency. 
The  eyes  were  wide  open,  but  not  un- 
pleasantly so,  and  their  expression  was 
one  of  meek,  gentle  surprise.  The  whole 
incong'-uous  face  as  it  reposed  there,  look- 
ing upvvards  to  its  Creator,  seemed  to  say, 
"Why?" 

Tefik  rose  to  his  full  height. 

"Trist,"  he    murmured,    with    a   little 


111 


i|ii...i«*mjuiiuiii 


■;:Ji- 


:ertain  that 
;  at  once  to 

it  had  been 
ifik  stopped 

e  said,  in  a 

body  of  a 
s  upon  the 


i-kmp  flick- 
calm,  bland 
Thtly  parked 
be,  in  some 
ts  tendency, 
but  not  un- 
)ression  was 
The  whole 
i  there,  look- 
emed  to  say. 


The  Puzzle  of  Life 


263 


shake  of  the  head.    "Ah!  but  that  is  a 
pity  —  a  thousand  pities  1" 

He  stood  with  the  lamp  in  his  hand, 
gazing  upwards  at  the  stars,  now  peeping 
out  in  the  rifts  of  heavy  cloud.  Uncon- 
sciously he  had  turned  his  grave  young 
eyes  to  the  West  — towards   civilization 

and  England. 

After  a  moment  he  turned  and  went 

on  his  way,  stumbling  in  the  dark  over 

the  dead  and  wounded. 


little 


..  ^fc.flsnvffmripnaiitfflffir' 


■V  :-«<V;i.>^^?!'';":^:r: 


264 


Suspense 


CHAPTER   XXI 


THE  END   OF   IT   ALL 


ALL  through  the  rough  autumn,  and 
on  into  midwinter,  Plevna  held  out. 
All  the  world  waited  and  watched,  sym- 
pathizing, as  is  its  way,  with  the  side 
where  sheer  pluck  seems  predominant. 

At  Wyl's  Hall,  Mrs.  Wylie  and  Brenda 
lived  on  in  their  quiet  way ;  and,  to  these 
two,  life  soon  assumed  a  calm,  unruffled 
regularity.  Small  local  incidents  took  to 
themselves  a  greater  importance,  and  the 
larger  events  of  the  world  reached  them 
only  as  an  echo. 

As  Winter  laid  its  hand  with  increasing 
power  over  the  land,  so  Wyvenwich  found 
itself  day  by  day  more  isolated  from  the 
world,  until  one  morning  in  the  middle  of 
December  the  last  link  was  severed.  A 
great  fall  of  snow,  driven  across  the  North 
Sea,  besieged  the  Eastern  counties,  and 


The  End  of  it  All 


265 


:i 


.L 


autumn,  and 
vna  held  out. 
ratched,  sym- 
ith  the  side 
edominant. 
;  and  Brenda 
and,  to  these 
Im,  unruffled 
dents  took  to 
mce,  and  the 
•eached  them 

Ith  increasing 
enwich  found 
ited  from  the 
the  middle  of 
i  severed.  A 
OSS  the  North 
counties,  and 


for  a  time  paralyzed  all  workers.  The 
coasti,-:ards  could  do  nothing,  for  they 
were  hemmed  in  by  great  drifts  on  Miz- 
zenheath  Moor.  The  boats  were  full  of 
snow,  the  roads  impassable,  and  the  small 
branch  railroad  hopelessly  blocked  by 
drifts,  sixteen  feet  deep  in  parts. 

During  five  days,  no  news  of  the  outer 
world  reached  Wyvenwich,  until  at  last 
a  signalman,  whose  occupation  was  gone 
by  reason  of  the  snowed-up  railway,  made 
his  way  on  foot  from  the  junction  on  the 
main-line,  carrying  the  mail-bag  on  his 

shoulders. 

This    man  brought    the    five-days-old 

news  of  the  fall  of  Plevna. 

It  was  almost  mid-day  before  the  post- 
bag  was  delivered  at  Wyl's  Hall,  and  the 
two  ladies  were  sitting  in  the  broad-wm- 
dowed  library  when  the  servant  brought 
it  to  them.  There  was  a  heap  of  unfin- 
ished needlework  upon  the  table,  for  it 
will  be  easily  understood  that  such  a 
woman  as  the  widow  would  be  able  to 
find  good  work  to  do  in  a  hard  winter. 


H'te^: 


W^' 


266 


Suspense 


"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  the  good  lady,  throw- 
ing her  work  aside  —  "  letters  at  hst !  " 

The  servant  smiled  sympathetically,  and 
left  the  room.  The  key  of  the  bag  was 
soon  taken  from  its  hiding-place  in  an 
ornament  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  Mrs. 
Wylie  shook  out  the  letters   upon    the 

table. 

"  It  is  delightful,"  she  exclaimed,  "  to  be 
in  communication  with  the  outer  .  .  . 

Suddenly  she  stopped,  and  laid  the  old 
leather  bag  aside  slowly. 

There  were  two  thin  brown  envelopes 
among  the  white  ones;  also  a  larger  one 
bearing  a  foreign  stamp,  and  carrying 
evident  marks  of  a  long  journey.  This 
was  addressed  to  Brenda,  as  were  the  two 
telegrams. 

"...  Outer  world,"  said  Mrs.  Wylie, 
in  a  peculiar  breathless  way,  finishing  her 
interrupted  remark  with  determination. 
«  There  are  .  .  .  two  telegrams  ...  for 
you,  Brenda." 

The  girl  took  the  envelopes  without 
comment,  and   opened  one,  dropping  it 


~J 


The  End  of  it  All 


267 


idy,  throw- 
t  hst !  " 
tically,  and 
e  bag  was 
ace   in   an 

and  Mrs. 

upon    the 

led,  "  to  be 
2r  .  .  . 
lid  the  old 

I  envelopes 
larger  one 
d  carrying 
ney.  This 
ere  the  two 

/Irs.  Wylie, 
inishing  her 
termination, 
ms  .  .  .  for 

DCS  without 
dropping  it 


subsequently  upon  the  floor  while  unfold- 
ing the  pink  paper.  She  read  the  message 
without  a  change  of  countenance,  while 
Mrs.  Wylie  made  a  pretence  of  being 
interested  in  her  own  letters.  In  the 
same  manner  Brenda  opened  the  second 
telegram. 

After  she  read  it,  there  was  a  horrible 
silence  in  the  room,  while  the  elder  woman 
stood  nervoi  y  reading  the  address  of  a 
letter  to  herself  over  and  over  again. 

Then  Brenda  spoke  in  a  clear  voice, 
which  bore  no  resemblance  to  her  usual 
tones  at  all. 

"  Theo  Trist  is  dead,"  she  said.  "  He 
was  killed  on  the  twelfth  of  September 
at  Plevna!" 

The  widow  held  out  her  hand,  and  took 
the  two  telegrams.  They  were  from  the 
great  London  editor  — one  telling  of  a 
rumour,  the  second  confirming  it.  Brenda 
had  read  the  confirmation  first. 

At  last  Mrs.  Wylie  raised  her  eyes  to 
her  companion's  face,  and  following  the 
direction  of  the  girl's  gaze,  she  remem- 


268 


Suspense 


bered  the  large,  ill-used  envelope  bearing 
a  foreign  stamp. 

"  That  letter,"  she  whispered,  trembling 
with  downright  fear. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Brenda,  with  the  same 
sickening  composure.     "  It  is  from  him." 

Then  she  took  it  and  turned  away  to 
the  window. 

Without  exactly  knowing  what  she  was 
doing,  Mrs.  Wylie  sat  down  again  in  the 
chair  she  had  vacated  on  the  advent  of 
the  post-bag.  Her  lips  moved  as  she 
stared  stupidly  at  the  work  tossed  aside 
on  the  table. 

"  O  God !  "  she  was  whispering,  "  give 
her  strength!" 

It  seemed  hours  that  she  sat  there 
without  daring  to  raise  her  eyes.  She 
heard  Brenda  break  open  the  envelope 
and  unfold  the  paper,  which  crackled 
loudly.  Then  there  came  no  sound  at  all 
except  at  times  a  suppressed  rustle  as  a 
page  wgis  turned. 

At  last  the  girl  moved,  turning  and 
coming  towards  her  companion. 


itt 


The  End  of  it  All 


269 


pe  bearing 

,  trembling 

:h  the  same 
rom  him." 
;d  away  to 

jat  she  was 
Tain  in  the 
:  advent  of 
ved  as  she 
ossed  aside 

ring,  "  give 

5  sat  there 
eyes.  She 
le  envelope 
:h  crackled 
sound  at  all 
rustle  as  a 

urning  and 
1. 


"There  .  .  ."  she  said  gently,  "you  may 
as  well  read  it." 

She  laid  the  closely  written  sheets  upon 
the  table,  for  Mrs.  Wylie  did  not  hold  out 
her  hand,  and  turned  again  towards  the 
window,  where  she  stood  looking  out 
upon   the   gleaming  snow. 

After  a  space,  Mrs.  Wylie  took  up  the 
letter  and  read  it  dreamily,  without  com- 
prehending its  full  meaning  —  without 
realizing  that  the  hand  which  had  directed 
the  clear,  firm  pen  would  never  write 
another  word.     It   ran   as  follows: 

"Dear  Brenda,  —  It  may  be  that  the 
long  confinement  in  this  grim  slaughter- 
house has  upset  my  nerve,  or  it  may,  per- 
haps, be  that  I  am  not  so  hard  or  so 
plucky  as  I  was.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  am 
going  to  break  through  a  resolution  to 
which  I  have  held  ever  since  I  took  to  the 
warpath.  It  was  my  intention  to  wait  until 
the  end  of  this  campaign  before  telling 
you  that  I  have  always  loved  you  —  that 
I  have  always  looked   up  to  you  as  my 


270  Suspense 

ideal  of  a  brave,  true  woman.    I   never 
doubted  that  my  love  for  you  was  and  s 
a  strong  firm  realUy,  as  aUhe^'^^^^^^^^ 
mv  life,  have  been.     1  never  aouu 
truth,  its  honesty,  and  its  P«™-«7  " 
but   these    very  quaUt.es  held   .     back^ 
It   I  had  loved  you  less,      '<>">''  h»^« 
asked  you  to  be  the  wife  of  a  war^orre- 
;:„dent  (and  one  »hose  -P—  J^ 
such  that  he  could  not  afford  to  be  found 
rth*  background).    This,   Brenda,  has 
been  my  secret  ever  since  I  left  college - 
ever  since  I  followed  the  irresistible  .ncli- 
X  which  led  me  on  to  the  battlefield^ 
It  is  unnecessary  to  dwell  ..ow  upon  the 
effort  that  I  have  had  to  make  a  thou.-vnd 
times  to  conceal  my  feelmgs.     I  used  to 
think  (and  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  1 
hoped    that  you  would  marry  someone 
inlitely  worthier  of  you  -someone  who 
las  richer,  and  wiser,  and  cleverer   and 
someone  whose  profession  was  less  ha^- 
aXs  i  but  in  the  last  year  or  tv™  I  have 

conceded  the  wild  notion  that  there  was 
a  «a  on  in  your  persistent  blindness  to 


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The  End  of  it  All 


271 


the  merits  of  men  calculated  in  every  way 
to  make  you  happy.     Gradually   I  came 
round  to  the  belief  that  you  understood, 
in  some  subtle  way,  the  policy  I  was  pur- 
suing, and  in  this  belief  Mrs.  Wylie  per- 
sistently encouraged  me  in  that  cheery, 
inimitable  way  of  hers.     If  I  have  made  a 
gross  mistake,  you  and  Mrs.  Wylie  must 
let  me   know  as  mercifully  as  you  can. 
I   leave    my  case   in    your  hands,  dear. 
But    I   feel    confident   that    I   am   right. 
Rashness    of    conclusion,    hastiness    of 
action,  have  never  been  ascribed  to  me, 
and  it  is  only  after  long  consideration  — 
after    placing   the   circumstances  persist- 
ently before   myself  in  their  very  worst 
light— that  I  have  taken  to  myself  the 
comforting  thought  that  I  can  make  your 
life  a  happy  one  (as  lives  go)  if  you  will 
trust  it  to   me.    We  are   not  strangers, 
Brenda,  but  have  known  each  other  since 
we  could  first  stand,  and  we  have  always 
been  good  friends.      As    I   have  grown 
from  youth  to  manhood,  my  love  for  you 
has  grown  also  in  strength  and  sureness. 


272 


Suspense 


I  have   never  doubted  it  for  a  moment, 
though  I  may  have  hesitated  as   to   its 
wisdom.      Perhaps    I    may   have   caught 
from  you   a  habit  of  setting  both   sides 
of  a  question  upon  a  footing   inconven- 
iently similar,  and  the  result  has  been  an 
honest  conviction  that  you  could  do  better 
than  marry  me.     Now  that  conviction  has 
given  way  to  another — namely,  that   I 
simply  cannot  do  without  you— cannot 
get  on  at  all,  except  it  be  at  your  own 
express  wish  that  I  should.    Circumstances 
have   now  changed.     I  have  been  fortu- 
nate in  making  a  name,  and  in  escaping 
many  risks  to  which  others  have  fallen 
victims.     I  can  command  my  own  price, 
and    make    my  own   conditions.      Alto- 
gether, I  am  now  in  a  position  such  as  an 
honourable   man   could  ask  his  wife   to 
share.     As   soon   as  this  campaign   (my 
last)  is  over,  I  shall  hurry  home  to  you. 
After  all,  my  resolution  has  not  collapsed 
entirely,  for  this  letter  cannot  leave  here 
until  an  end  of  some  sort  come  upon  us. 
We  are  like  rats  in  a  trap,  but  the  courage 


joment, 
to  its 
caught 
h  sides 
conven- 
aeen  an 

0  better 
tion  has 

that  I 
-cannot 
)ur  own 
tistances 
n  fortu- 
2scaping 
e  fallen 
m  price, 
Alto- 
ch  as  an 

wife   to 
ign   (my 

1  to  you. 
collapsed 
ave  here 
upon  us. 
;  courage 


r-^^^fci^Fi* 


The  End  of  it  All 


273 


of  these  men  is  something  wonderful.  I 
shall  have  much  to  tell  you  when  I  get 
back,  for  I  am  the  sole  historian  of  events 
inside  Plevna.  In  the  meantime,  dear,  I 
dare  to  call  myself 

"Your  lover, 

"Theodore  Trist. 

"  Plkvna,  7th  September,  1877." 

Mrs.  Wylie  looked  again  at  the  sig- 
nature in  a  curious,  mechanical  way,  as 
if  verifying  it.  "  Theodore  Trist."  Two 
simple  words  in  bold  abruptness  without 
flourish,  scroll,  or  ornament.  A  clear  run- 
ning caligraphy,  strong  and  plain,  rapid, 
legible,  straightforward  and  purposeful, 
fresh  from  the  fingers  now  still  in  death. 

The  last  time  the  name  was  ever 
written  by  its  possessor  was  at  the  foot  of 
that  letter  to  Brenda. 

The  girl  herself  stood  at  the  window 

looking  over  the  snow-clad  moorland  to 

the    gray    sea.     Her    back    was    turned 

towards  the  room ;  her  white  hands  hung 

motionless  at  her  side.     Near  to  her  the 

telegrams  lay  on  a  small  table,  half  un- 

18 


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274  Suspense 

folded,  disclosing  their  short  brutality  of 
diction. 

Outside,  the  sun  shone  down  on  the 
glancing  sea.  The  waves  gleamed  white, 
and  on  the  shingle  sang  their  everlasting 
song.  All  the  world  was  fair.  The  sea- 
birds  whirled  in  mid-air,  and  shrieked 
fantastically  for  very  joy.  They  had  no 
thought  of  their  own  end  —  no  doubts  as 
to  the  purpose  of  their  creation  —  no 
question  as  to  the  wisdom  of  their 
Creator.  Only  m  in— the  lord  of  all 
the  earth  —  has  those  I 


THE    END. 


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